


Thorn and Feather

by MegLee06, Nathalaia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Fairytale, Angst, Collab, Collaboration, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Romance, fairy tale, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 116,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegLee06/pseuds/MegLee06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathalaia/pseuds/Nathalaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?”</p><p>His wish for an adventure was granted, but he had no chance of foreseeing the outcome.<br/>_________________________________________________________<br/>“Sleep, little one. You have nightmares to attend.”</p><p>As he grew, sleep was no longer necessary when the nightmares chased him into the daytime hours.<br/>_________________________________________________________<br/>Fairy tales never were meant for children...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, MegLee06 and Nathalaia decided to write their own badass fairy tale. And it was loved by all. The end.
> 
> Okay, seriously, we’ve been working and working and *working* on this story for a while now. One day, we *did* decide to make a collaboration, and it ended up being a fairy tale, or at the very least, inspired by one, and it will all be (somewhat) clear in the prologue. 
> 
> We have the whole plot mapped out, more or less (~40 pages on Word, only notes, sigh), so now it’s just a question about putting those ideas down on (screen)paper. If all goes according to our plans, there will be a prologue followed by ten chapters, then an epilogue (and as it looks now, the average word count is ~7.000 words per chapter, so yay!). We just finished Chapter 2, but the editing process is a bitch and we want it to be as close to perfect as possible, so while we'll try to upload regularly, you probably should not expect daily updates.
> 
> At the moment, the fic is rated for General Audiences. If we feel it needs to be bumped up, we will adjust the rating accordingly.
> 
> Meg’s Notes: So this has been a huge chunk of time and effort (and so much love). It has a little bit of everything, and all of the emotions you’ve come to expect from me in other stories, and amped up by Nat’s own emotional intensity, so it is going to be one hell of a ride. A long, heart-wrenching ride with dark twists and turns, and we are so, *so* excited. Eat your heart out, Brothers Grimm. I hope you all enjoy this as much as we have enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Nat’s Notes: Beware of slight angst. *Just a tiny bit. Not much.* Or maybe I’m lying. Who knows (aside from Meg, ha). As for my own fics - worry not, they will be updated/uploaded. Eventually. And woe! The troubles of having one UK writer and one US writer and having different preferences for the spelling of a name (damn you, Junmyeon/Joonmyun). That’s where compromises come in handy, haha. Anyway, I am so excited about this and have been so since we started plotting it, so I hope you will follow us until the end on this ride and I *really* hope you will like it!

Hidden amongst the hills of the land, surrounded by the Eastern Sea, was the proud Kingdom of Luoes, which had not seen the terrors of war for many generations. With armies stronger than most and a history of just kings and queens, the country went from a small district to a prosperous and independent empire within the span of a century. However, whilst no wars were fought, the country still had its fair share of uprisings, such as the opposition led by wielders of magic.

In an event that had widely become known as the Nightshade Rebellion, the country’s sorcerers and supporters of magic rioted against the new legislation banning any form of magic in the land. The laws had been approved by the current king’s late father, who had been persistent in his quest to vanquish magic from his kingdom in response to several magic-related deaths. The current king, while not quite sharing his father’s ill will towards the practice, had decided to keep the ban in place when he took the throne to honor his father.

The Kim family had ruled the kingdom since its early years with a firm but kind hand. King Minki and Queen Junhye were well into their thirteenth month on the throne and their subjects were satisfied with their ways of handling the kingdom, despite the ban on magical practices. They had yet to conceive an heir, but it was only a matter of time before a son or daughter would join the royal family.

That, however, is not where our story begins…

-

The Kim family had always taken pride in their efforts to listen to their subjects. Once a week, they held court, in which the people of the kingdom could come to them with their problems. Despite their royal status and the inevitable intimidation that came along with it, the king and queen were known for their kind and friendly disposition, and the people soon grew accustomed to approaching them in their time of need. If the royal family could provide a solution, within reason, they did it, for they were generous rulers who wished for their subjects’ happiness.

But not all problems could be set straight with small monetary gifts and comforting words of reassurance. And as much as the king and queen tried to help, their efforts sometimes fell short. Especially when emotions ran high in the hearts of the troubled.

They were listening to the complaints of a poor farmer who had lost the majority of his crop due to drought and insufficient water supplies when the sound of wood striking stone rang through the throne room, startling the occupants inside. The royal couple’s eyes rose to see Heizhu, one of the king’s advisors and dearest friends, storming through the heavy oak doors, his face twisted in anguish and rage as his black cloak trailed behind. He had hardly reached the middle of the room before he was speaking, his words full of accusation.

“You did this,” he growled through clenched teeth. “ _You killed her_.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as Heizhu stopped in his advance, the only sound coming from the farmer, who now found himself much more comfortable along the wall and well out of reach of the angered man.

One of the guards shifted nervously, glancing between Heizhu and the king. “Sire?”

A hand was thrown up in response, quieting the guard’s concern as the king stood from his seat, hands held loosely by his side in a show of vulnerability. Though strong and handsome, he was hardly an opposing figure, and the way he held himself now called attention to that lack of intimidation. This was one of his oldest friends, and his face softened as he looked over the other man, remorse flickering across his expression as he bowed his head briefly.

“Heizhu… I am sorry. I will not try to deny it. She was found to have practiced dark magic and was apprehended. Magic is forbidden in our lands, as you are well aware of.”

“She practiced in private, Minki,” Heizhu protested, ignoring the startled looks he received from the onlookers at the use of the king’s first name. “She was a danger to no one.”

“The land’s laws forbid _any_ use of magic, public or otherwise.” Minki shook his head, trying to reason with his friend. “You must understand, Heizhu. That is why -”

“No, _you_ must understand,” Heizhu snapped loudly, hesitating at the realization that he had just interrupted the king before continuing on with a quieter voice, even as his anger still rolled off of him in waves. “Forbidden here, yes, but other lands do not have such restrictions. You could have sent her away. Instead you hunted her, had your men take her life.”

The queen stood slowly at the words, her delicate features pulling into a frown with her concern for the man in front of them. “Heizhu, dearest friend, that is not -”

Junhye fell silent as her husband raised his hand again, sending her a gentle look before shaking his head. With a nod, she took her place by his side, and he turned back towards Heizhu. “Such are the rules.”

Heizhu growled at the phrase, his words growing in volume until every syllable bounced off of the stone walls of the room, as if the echo was to further emphasize his point, “She could have been spared!”

The king, though sympathetic to his friend’s pain, would not tolerate the outbursts for much longer. In his desperation for Heizhu to understand him, for Heizhu to see his side, his words became just shy of a shout.

“She brought this upon herself.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm his own emotions. “She knew of this kingdom’s laws and what she got herself into. She paid the price. I am sorry, Heizhu, I truly am, but laws are laws.”

“ _Liar_ ,” Heizhu breathed out with an incredulous look that quickly melted back into anger. “You say you are my friend, but no friend of mine would have killed the woman I love!”

The king stiffened, as if the words themselves had struck him, the anger draining from his features as his voice grew soft. “The gardener… You loved Mingzhu?”  

Heizhu visibly deflated at the mention of the woman’s name, his anger momentarily taken over by his pain. “I did, yes…” The anger returned quickly, however, his body shaking with his rage as he glared at his king. “ _And you took her from me_.”

King Minki closed his eyes for a short moment and inhaled deeply. He had not realized there was something there, but thinking back now, it should have been obvious to him. Had he not caught the two in conversation, speaking privately in the gardens? Had he not seen the fond smiles, the brush of his hand along her arm in greeting? Polite gestures, yes, but something deeper. Something more. And like a fool, the king had glanced right over them without a second thought.

When he opened his eyes again, he fixed his stare on Heizhu. The queen at his side followed the exchange of words with worry, shooting Heizhu pitying looks. Her whole being ached for him. She couldn’t imagine what life would be without her husband.

“That…” the king breathed, shaking his head. “Heizhu, had I _just known_.” He stepped away from the throne and hesitantly approached Heizhu. Once he was in front of him, he reached out with a hand and laid it on his friend’s shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. “ _I am sorry._ ”

Heizhu did not allow the touch, however, and lashed out, batting the hand away from him as he stepped out of his reach. A shaking hand raked over his face, and King Minki briefly caught the sight of tears welling up in the corner of his eyes before they were suppressed once more, Heizhu’s shoulders squaring towards the other.

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but even if you are not, you _will_ be soon enough.”

The king’s gaze hardened just a bit at the underlying threat in Heizhu’s words. He retreated a few steps to give Heizhu some space to breathe, looking him over with a lifted brow. “Are you threatening me, old friend?”

A scoff slipped from Heizhu’s lips, a shake of his head following. “No, not threatening. Promising.” He sneered at the king, his voice lowering in malice. “You took her life for dark magic, so I will _show_ you how dark magic can be.”

With those words spoken and a last menacing glower at the king, Heizhu’s form was consumed in a cloud of black smoke, leaving no trace behind, and no indication as to where he had gone.

His departure had a heavy silence settling over the people inside of the room. The guards stayed still, but casted fleeting glances towards the monarchs, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak. A threat was no simple matter, but to threaten a king - with magic, no less - like that was unheard of. Minki stumbled back, wide eyes locked on where Heizhu had stood mere moments ago, his heart torn. The king in him could not let such a blatant display of rebellion slide, but the friend in him ached for his advisor and the pain he had unknowingly caused him.

The _click clack_ of the queen’s shoes alerted the king to his queen’s arrival at his side before he saw her. “Minki,” she spoke, her voice soft and inquiring as a hesitant hand came to rest on his shoulder, “what should we do? He believes you truly killed her.”

Minki straightened his back and released a sigh. Laying his hand on top of hers, he squeezed it reassuringly, as if to emphasize his next words.

“He is currently going through a lot of emotional pain. If he knew she swallowed poison from a nightshade… His love would have clouded his judgment. Nothing I said would have gotten through to him.” He turned around to face her and gave her hand another squeeze. “But worry not, dear. I will tell him once he has calmed down.”

“And how long will that take?” Junhye asked, worry lacing her words as she gazed upon her husband. “How long must he suffer, thinking you are to blame? And with magic involved, should we not go after him?”

“We will, but not tonight.” The king released her hand and sighed, looking towards the doors his friend had entered through just minutes earlier. “He needs to grieve on his own.”

-

True to his word, the king looked high and low for Heizhu, but months passed by without a word from him. In that time, the kingdom moved on, as did the regents. The rebellion came to a close with some key deaths in the supporters’ ranks, and the ban remained in place. And with that victory, Heizhu seemed to slip further and further from their thoughts. While they did not forget their friend, time blurred their memories until they could hardly remember the threatening words he had left in his wake.

Adding to the time of peace was the unexpected news of the queen’s pregnancy, which left the kingdom overjoyed. The regents were glowing with happiness as they awaited the birth of the child, the prospects of finally having an heir leaving everyone in anticipation.

Time passed quickly, and soon the day was upon them. A late night in spring, the queen gave birth to a healthy boy. The news spread like a wildfire and soon the talk in the city centered around the newborn prince. At long last, an heir had been given to Luoes.

The royal family withdrew from the public’s eye, choosing instead to stay with their child and enjoy the first days of his life together. The only times they’d leave the child to the nursemaids were when the king accompanied the queen, still weak from the exhaustion of childbirth, to the bathroom. It was there she could relax in the soothing, hot water with fragrant oils made from the roses in the Royal Rose Garden, which held an abundance of red and white roses in honor of the royal family’s crest.

It was a few days after the child’s birth that the king walked his wife back to their chamber after a bath, both wearing soft smiles, the king supporting the queen with an arm around her waist. It had been some pleasant days, their undivided attention given to their newborn son and with no court matters to attend to. Time to just enjoy life as a family.

It wasn’t until they neared the door that the couple could hear the soft humming coming from the room. The king and the queen shared a fond smile, imagining their child being rocked to sleep by one of the nursemaids, the familiar melody of an old lullaby growing in volume the closer they got to the door. Stopping outside the chamber, the king reached out and pulled the handle down, opening thedoor and stepping inside.

Only to come to an abrupt halt at the threshold, the sight that met their eyes rendering them motionless.

“Heizhu...”

He was sitting on the windowsill, the darkness in the room casting him in shadow, the only exception being the stray rays of moonlight illuminating half of his person. Though it had been some time, and though his features had changed - when had he ever been so thin? - it was still the man Minki remembered.

He didn’t stir at the call of his name, and the king tried again once the surprise had been shaken off.

“... Heizhu,” Minki uttered. “What are you -”

“Sssh,” Heizhu cut in. A smile danced across his features, distorting into something of a smirk in the low lighting. “He is sleeping.”

He slowly rose from the seat, gaze moving from the child in his arms to the regents frozen in the doorway. A soft tune filled the air once more as Heizhu resumed humming, the once comforting song somehow more sinister in tone.

In her peripheral vision, Junhye could see the nursemaid’s still form on the floor, but she did not dare take her eyes away from her child, who slept peacefully in their old friend’s arms.

“Heizhu,” the king said again, slowly, eyes fixed on the other male. He didn’t move from his position, barely daring to breathe lest it affect his child’s well-being. “What are you doing?”

Heizhu released a wistful sigh and shook his head. “I have not gone by that name in months.” His eyes took on a hardened glint. “It is Crow now. Heizhu died with _her_.”

Minki stiffened at the reminder of the incident that took place what felt like _years_ ago. Now, with Heizhu standing in front of him with his child in his arms, he remembered all too well the threat, the _promise_ , that Heizhu had left them with, and an icy dread filled his gut. “... Crow. You are avoiding my question. What are you doing here after… after all this time?”

“Can I not visit after the birth of the new heir? It is an event to be celebrated, is it not?” Heizhu’s - _Crow’s_ voice was deceptively innocent, and his gaze fell to the young prince in his arms. He swept some soft locks of hair away from the child’s forehead, an unreadable smile finding its way to his lips.

Queen Junhye stifled a whimper with the back of her hand, fear settling deep in her gut, and the king’s gaze hardened, yet his voice stayed soft and patient. “Old friend…”

“ _We are not friends_ ,” Crow spat harshly, as if the words themselves were a poison. “Not after what you have done.”

The boy stirred from his peaceful slumber, a soft noise of discomfort pulling at the queen’s heartstrings. She reached out with a cautious hand, drawing it back to her chest when she realised she was too far away.

“Heizhu,” she started, her voice tinged with desperation, “let me have the child. Then you and Minki can talk. Please?”

Crow held the boy closer despite the queen’s pleas, almost tauntingly, and he smiled as he rocked him in his arms. “And miss the opportunity to give the child his christening gift? No, I do not think that will do.”

King Minki kept a firm hand on his wife’s waist, holding her in place. He could not allow her to run to their son, knowing they had to proceed with caution if they were to get the child back safely.

“ _Crow_. Hand over the child. Please. It has been a long time and I understand if there are things we need to discuss. Let us take that conversation in the study room and leave the child alone.”

Their old friend’s smile slipped into a sneer, his hatred visible even in the low light. “You say you understand, but you do _not_. You do not know the pain I have felt.” He turned his eyes back to the child, the smile reappearing, and he pressed a chaste kiss to the infant’s forehead before continuing in a sing-song voice. “... But you will.”

“Heizhu, please!” the queen cried,  her husband still restraining her. The man growled at the old name.

“It is _Crow_!” he roared, and the baby stirred again, a soft whimper leaving him. The king could feel his heartbeat quickening at the sound, and his resolve grew stronger.

It was the raised voices that finally called attention to the guards posted at the end of the hall. Everyone in the room was silenced by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the door, voices shouting over each other, words of “ _Protect the royal family!_ ” and “ _Your Majesties, are you alright?_ ” reaching the occupants inside.

“Careful now,” Crow muttered, a wave of his hand shutting the door behind the regents, a click ringing out as the lock slid into place just as the footsteps neared. “We would not want to be interrupted.”

Fists hammered on the door and the royal guards’ voices grew in volume and urgency when they found themselves unable to force their way in to protect the regents and the young heir. “Open the door this instant!”

“Your guards have not changed a bit, I see,” Crow spat. “Always sticking their noses in business that does not concern them.”

“Crow, give me the child,” Minki ordered, his voice hardening as he made to approach the other male, realizing the guards would not be able to get inside and help and therefore taking it upon himself to get his son away from Crow.

Crow threw out a hand, keeping a tight hold on the child with the other. “ _Quiet._ ”

It was not fear that kept them frozen in place this time, but a spell. The king fought the invisible restraints, his agitation rising at the sounds of his distressed wife and child. “Crow! This is not the time!”

His voice broke as he racked his mind for something, anything, to get through to the man he once knew. Gone was the man he once called his friend, leaving only a monster, but perhaps Heizhu was still there, buried underneath all of the hatred and pain.

“Revenge is not the answer, Heizhu. _Do not let it poison your mind and soul!_ Whatever you have in mind is _not_ the right thing to do.”

But the words meant nothing to the other, who simply shook his head.

“And yet I will do it anyway, if it pleases me.” He looked at the young prince in his arms and added, in a thoughtful voice, “Perhaps I have grown to crave the taste of poison.”

He was quiet for a while before his eyes narrowed and he turned his attention back to the regents, shaking the thoughts of Mingzhu away. “You wanted dark magic,” he muttered, a hand coming to rest on the baby’s forehead, “and so you shall have it.”

“No, Heizhu!” Junhye cried out. “ _Heizhu, do not hurt him, please, I beg of you!_ ”

The king, too, shouted at Crow, but their pleas went unanswered.

“Mingzhu was not shown mercy, and neither will it be shown tonight.” A simple smile fell over his lips. “Allow me to be the first to welcome the child into the world.”

“If you hurt as much as a _lock of hair on his head_ -” Minki started, only to be cut off.

“You will do what? Hmmm?” Crow questioned, raising his chin in challenge.

“I swear on my life that I shall never forgive you!” the king finished, earning a wicked laugh from the other.

“Well, how about you swear on _his_ life?” Crow mocked, indicating the child with a nod of his head. “What is his life worth to you?”

Minki was at his wit’s end, the queen reduced to hysterics by his side as she battled her own restraints in vain, her eyes never leaving the child. It was then that the king’s desperation reached its peak, knowing his heir, _his firstborn child_ , was being punished for something that he had no part in.

“ _I_ was the one who made a mistake,” he reasoned. “ _I_ should be held responsible for it, _not him!_ ”

“And who do you think taught Mingzhu magic?” Crow countered, his gaze hard as it found the king once more. “Who do you think taught her how to access such power? The roses she tended to?” A dry laugh fell from his lips. “No. _I_ taught her, and yet I survived and she did not.”

Crow dropped his head in a moment of anguish, the memories he pushed away becoming too much to bear, before he reigned in his emotions once more. “You will feel the same pain I must live with. Every day, you will be reminded that you are the reason for a loved one’s suffering, and you will be able to do _nothing_. I will make sure of it.”

“ _You will not!_ ”

“Watch me.” Crow turned his attention back to the whimpering young prince, a satisfied grin stretched across his face as he began to recite.

“ _Let darkness stain the touch of youth and buckle underneath the truth. Every hour counts a year, of time gone by and death brought near. At twenty four, his life shall fade, a price for parents’ sins repaid. Let death take back the life it gave, one honest, caring, smart and brave. With parents’ blood within his vein, a needle’s prick shall right again._ ”

Minki could have sworn the light fled from the room as soon as the words were spoken, shadows pressing closer, darkness growing more prominent. But the effect passed as Crow finished, the room settling back into the dim moonlight.

The boy began to cry as the words came to a close and Crow chuckled lightly, shushing the child and rocking him gently, paying no heed to the outraged cries and screams coming from the other side of the room.

“Sleep, little one. You have nightmares to attend.”

“What have you done?” Minki shouted, eyes burning with anger and fright. “ _Heizhu, what have you done?_ ”

“I have only returned your favor, _Your Majesty_ ,” Crow replied as he turned his back to the regents and laid the boy, who had fallen back asleep, in the crib. He stood still for a moment, simply observing the boy’s sleeping features, before reaching up with an open hand. In the light of the moon, the regents watched as a feather as black as the night outside was created by smoke between his fingers. He clutched it briefly in his palm before laying it next to the baby, caressing his cheek with his thumb.

“Happy birthday, young prince.”

“ _Get away from him!_ ” Junhye screamed, tears trailing down her cheeks as a sob shook her frame.

Minki watched as Crow straightened, stepping away from the crib with a gentle sigh and moving closer to the window.

“You have condemned my child to death!” Minki accused, but Crow shook his head, throwing a grin over his shoulder.

“No, Sire. _You have_.”

And then Crow was gone, the regents released from the magic that locked them in place with a jolt. The door burst open, a handful of guards storming inside.  

The queen staggered to the crib when she found herself free from the spell, reaching for her son with shaking hands and holding him tightly to her chest, as if fearing the man would return to snatch him away once again. She stumbled back, dropping down onto the bed, and cradled her baby close, heavy tears falling from her eyes. The guards called out to her, but she did not respond, ensnared in her worry.

Minki, furious and _grief-struck_ at the curse that had been placed upon his first child, turned to the first guard he saw and roared, “Park! Find him! _Find Heizhu and bring him to me!_ ”

-

Despite scouring the land for Crow, not even his shadow was sighted, and the regents quickly lost hope of finding their one-time friend. Their efforts, then, turned to finding a way to break the curse Crow had cast upon their child. They looked for answers in books, ancient manuscripts, myths, and when that did not give them a cure, they sought help from some of their most trusted allies.

“Guozhi,” the king called the moment he stepped into the royal physician’s chambers, gaze immediately falling on the younger man. The physician, a thin man with an intelligent gaze and a gentle nature, glanced up from the parchment scattered around his desk, blinking up at his friend.  

“Yes, Sire?”

The king let a short smile find its way to his lips. “ _Minki_ , Guozhi. I do not call you Doctor Zhang.” The smile vanished from his face again. “I need a word with you. It is strictly confidential and I askthat you do not tell _anyone_ what I am about to say.”

Guozhi nodded slowly, folding his hands on top of the table and looking closely at the king. “I understand.”

The king sighed, gaze taking on a steely glint. “Heizhu, or _Crow_ ,as he now insists he is called, has used magic to put my son’s life in danger. It must be kept from the public.” Both men knew what this knowledge would mean to those who still harbored ill feelings after the Nightshade Rebellion. It would serve as a spark for a second uprising, a fight the kingdom did not need so soon after the last one. “Guozhi, friend, do you know of any way to break a curse?”

“A curse…” the physician breathed, closing his eyes shortly before opening them again and fixing them on the king. “What kind of curse?”

“Death,” Minki answered with barely concealed rage. “He cursed him to _die_ when he turns twenty four.”

Guozhi shot the king a look of shock that quickly turned to pity. “I see.” He straightened in his seat and frowned. “You must know, Minki, curses are… difficult to break. Sometimes, the solution is not easily found.”

He looked up at the distressed king. “I will need a transcription of the curse. I must know what words were used if I am to have a chance of finding its weakness.”

The king sagged. “I do not remember what he said word for word. What I remember the clearest is the last line. ‘A needle’s prick shall right again’. The curse will be completed when he turns twenty four, because of our past mistakes.” Minki paused, a pained expression darkening his features. “No, because of _me_. This is my fault.”

Guozhi stood from the chair and came to stand by the king’s side, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing, trying to somehow assure the king that everything would be fine, though he knew the prince’s future was uncertain at best. “I will do everything I can.”

Minki sighed and looked at his friend. “Thank you.”

Left alone to his books, Guozhi searched for anything that would help reverse what had been done. But days went by without any progress, and the physician regretfully admitted defeat on the seventh day.

“I am sorry, Minki,” the physician said as he entered the war room. It seemed to be the only room Minki stayed in, as of late, claiming his mind was clearest in the small room meant for talks of battle. But what was not expected was the attendance of another in the room, Wu Weishan.

The duke had always had an air of intimidation around him, with broad shoulders and a height that left him towering over most. He was a quiet man, almost unreadable at times, and though he had never shown a tendency for violence, his appearance left many wary. But it was not his looks that had Guozhi hovering by the door, but the topic at hand. The child’s curse was still confidential, and it left the physician unsure of what could be said in front of the man that held his king’s company at the moment.  

The king, noticing Guozhi’s hesitation, made a gesture towards Weishan.

“It is alright, Guozhi. Weishan knows.”

With a nod, Guozhi steeled himself for what he was about to tell his king before continuing in a softer tone, “I tried my best, Minki, but I… There is too little to go by. I’m sorry.”

Minki closed his eyes, bracing himself against the table. His hands formed into fits and for a moment, it seemed as if he would break, but then, with a deep breath, he straightened up and nodded at Guozhi.

“I understand. Thank you for trying, my friend.”

The dismissal did not need to be voiced. Guozhi bowed, uttered another quiet apology, and left the two men.

“What will you do, Minki?” Weishan asked, his voice insistent, but aware of the frailty of the king’s current emotional state.

“What _can_ I do?” the king countered, running a hand through his hair in a way that suggested he had done so frequently over the past few days. “There is _nothing_ I can do. Crow spoke the truth. I can only bide my time, watch helplessly as my child’s life comes closer to its end every day.”

“There must be _something_ , Minki,” Weishan urged, leaning forward over the table as he spoke. “I have known you for years, my friend, and you have never been one to give up so easily. There is always a solution. We will find it. Crow will _not_ get away with this.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Minki asked, every ounce of his being marked with his fatigue and resignation.

And despite his encouragement, to that, the duke had no answer.

-

The next day saw the royal family in the rose garden. The queen was seated on a chair next to the rose bushes bursting with red blossoms, her son in one arm, a rosebud in her spare hand. The king was pacing in front of her, a frown adorning his face.

The curse on their child had strained the regents’ relationship. Never had they been this quiet around each other; the king, in particular, tiptoed around the queen. She had not yet voiced it out loud, but he knew she blamed him for their son’s fate. The accusation was there in every prolonged look in his direction, every tight-lipped smile she gave.

The child in the queen’s arms was smiling and gurgling, oblivious to the terrible curse that had been bestowed upon him. Junhye smiled softly down at her son, ignoring the constant desire to break and sob at the unfairness of the world. She did not know what she had done to deserve Fate taking away her firstborn child so quickly after he entered her life.

“My king.”

A voice broke through to the regents, stirring them from their individual thoughts, and Minki looked up to see Weishan crossing the garden with wide strides.

“What is it, friend?” he said in greeting, halting his pacing momentarily.

Weishan didn’t speak until he was right in front of Minki. The king did not miss the man’s glance at their surroundings, as if checking for others nearby, before he spoke again in a low voice that would keep the words for their ears alone.

“Minki. There might be a way.”

Minki’s eyes flared with an emotion he had not felt strongly for what felt like ages. _Hope_. “Yes? Speak, Weishan. What is it?”

“Get the prince away from the castle,” the duke said slowly. “Hide him from Crow. Tell the people the prince succombed to crib death and have someone take him away in the cover of night so no curious eyes will see.”

Weishan spared a look at the child, a sad smile on his features. “If Crow does not know where he is, he might be safe from his magic.”

Minki’s eyes narrowed, and the scoff of disbelief left his lips before he could stop it. He started pacing again, only to stop in front of Weishan mere seconds later. “You are asking me to send my son away with someone I _trust_?”

When Weishan nodded, Minki shook his head sharply.

“I _trusted_ Heizhu,” he said as he turned his attention to his son, watching as his wife stroked their child’s cheek with her finger, smiling down at the boy, “and look at the price I have paid for it.”

“I am aware that it is not a favored situation,” Weishan admitted, but pressed on, not to be discouraged, “however, it might be your last hope in saving him.”

“You are suggesting he is safer somewhere other than _here_ ,” Minki threw a hand out to indicate their surroundings, “at the castle, with guards and his parents to protect him?”

Weishan’s eyes softened as he laid a hand on the king’s shoulder. “I understand that this sounds like nonsense, but you _must_ see reason.

“I would not want to see my own child be taken away,” the duke continued, and Minki was reminded of the news that his friend’s wife was also with child, due sometime later that fall, “but if it means my unborn son or daughter’s life might be spared, I would not hesitate.”

Minki observed Weishan in silence for a long moment before he released a heavy sigh. “Let me talk with Junhye. It is something she and I must decide together.”

“Of course,” the duke replied, nodding his head. “I will leave you, then. Find me when you have reached a decision. If you decide to take my advice, I can give you the names of the people I trust with such a mission.”

“Thank you,” the king said and with another nod, Weishan was gone, leaving in his wake an upset king.

“Dear,” he spoke after a long moment, breaking the silence that had been interrupted only by their son’s happy gurgling. He turned around, placing his hands behind his back before meeting the queen’s gaze. “There is something we must discuss.”

-

The regents debated Weishan’s idea throughout the whole night, the queen crying into her hands at the prospect of leaving her child in another’s care. She wanted so badly to be a mother, to hold her son and sing to him when he cried, to nurse him when he was sick, to play with him as he got older. She wanted to be there to watch him grow up, but that would not be.

Together, the king and queen reached a difficult decision. They would send their only son away, for it was the only way they could see to keep him safe.

“Sacrifices are necessary,” Junhye had stated later on, valiantly trying to smile through the heavy tears trailing from her eyes. “If this is his only hope, we must do this.” And the king could only agree.

After a hurried christening, the regents gathered Wu Weishan, Zhang Guozhi and few other people they trusted the most for a final meeting. After much talk, the duty as the prince’s guardian fell to Feng Kou, a quiet, bear of a man who was a long-time friend of both regents. Kou would be the one to whisk him away to an unknown location, one that even the regents would not know.

All in the name of protecting the prince’s life.

And so, the following night, the regents bid their goodbyes. The farewell was done in private with only the royal family and Kou present, the child sleeping through the emotional goodbyes of his parents, unaware of the uncertainties of his future and the dangers that lay ahead. The queen cried, holding her baby close for the last time in many, many years, if all went as planned. The king wound his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her and their son closer, allowing tears to leave his eyes for the first time since the curse was placed.

When the time came for Kou and the prince to take their leave, the regents stayed back. Only after the pair had disappeared from sight did Junhye turn around in Minki’s arms and bury her face in his chest, sobs racking her body.

The king held her close, praying to every deity he knew that no harm would come to their son. Praying that one day, he would be able to embrace him again.

“Until your return… Minseok.”

 

* * *

 **Meg’s Notes:** You brave, brave readers, getting through such a  _monster_ of a prologue. That was a lot of information thrown at you, so I hope your heads are not spinning too awfully bad, but here we go! With the background laid out, the story can officially begin with our beloved Exo. And what a story it is going to be. I hope y’all are excited, because I (we) sure am (are)! ^^

 **Nat’s Notes:** Fun fact: We didn’t plan for this prologue to get so long, but, eh. What can you do? Anyway, I (we) hope you liked the prologue (which we have finally deemed alright for upload. The editing process has been a  _drag_ )! As Meg wrote, it was indeed a lot of information and I hope it didn’t throw you off. Chapter 1 (and the rest) will focus on the main characters, so stay tuned!

Also, bonus: Find connections! (Meg and Nat cackle in the background) We have included a lot, some intentionally, some not, and you will be greatly rewarded for each you find (with words of praise and our happiness). Look out for connections in the chapters!

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 1!


	2. Let Darkness Stain the Touch of Youth

Kim Junmyeon had never wanted much as a child.

Being born into the royal family had its perks, and at seven years old he was used to the lavish life he lived. Large feasts with multiple courses and enough dessert options to make his head spin, the finest tutors for his studies - though, truthfully, it was his parents who appreciated that and not him - that made sure the young prince was well-educated, and the entire castle and the grounds to play in. Except the rose garden, of course, but that was his mother’s escape and he could not bear to disappoint her by destroying any of those flowers. Even at his young age, he knew his life was better than most. But there were two things he craved in his life, that he wished for as he went to sleep every night.

The first was adventure. He had seen those people who visited the throne room every week. Subjects, his father had called them, and he had listened dutifully as all the different people were described, even if their roles really didn’t mean much to a child. But even if he didn’t fully comprehend their importance to the kingdom, he understood their stories.

The kingdom sounded exciting. It had vast, rolling hills of green grass, and tall trees in the forest, much taller than the plants that grew in the gardens. And he could not forget the town full of people, especially on market days, with all of the sights and sounds and smells that came with it. Or, at least, he could not forget the description from the various subjects.

All of these things sounded marvelous to Junmyeon, who had quite the rambunctious personality and was always slipping away from his keepers. But he was never allowed further than the gates. He could roam the castle and the grounds for only so long before he began to yearn for something new; however, his parents had forbidden such things. Too dangerous, they had said. He was safer within the gates. Safer close by. But the safety felt like a cage on most days, and if he could have articulated the feeling properly, he would have cried out at the unfairness of it all.

But adventure was not his main desire. More than anything else, he wished for a brother.

He had many titles that he had grown used to hearing when the workers around the palace were around. They called him Your Highness, Young Prince, Heir. But a few months after his seventh birthday, he had heard a new one: Second born.

It had been during one of his lessons, his tutor insisting that he must know all of the names in his family tree. He had loved the idea at first, until he was shown the parchment that held the lineage. He may not be able to read fluently yet, only just beginning to recognize and write his own name, but he could see the amount of words there. Why did his family have to be so big?

It didn’t help that all the names were so similar. Like his grandfather’s name. It sounded like his father’s first name, he had pointed out, and the tutor had smiled, explaining it was a custom in his family to name the firstborn child after the father, which was why the names sounded alike. He had then pointed out a name Junmyeon hadn’t heard before, Minseok, which fell next to his underneath his parents. This Minseok was the first born son, and therefore named after his father. Junmyeon, he had continued, had been named after his mother, as he was the second child born to his family.

Junmyeon had frowned at that, but had remained silent as the tutor continued the lesson. He had waited until that night at dinner to question his mother why he was named after her, and why there was another little boy named after his father whom he had never met. Wasn’t he an only child? Why would he be called second born?

It was one of the only times he had ever seen his mother cry.

Startled by the tears, Junmyeon quickly finished his dinner and ran to hide in his room, avoiding the scolding he was sure was to come by burying himself underneath the blankets of his bed. He felt horrible, because he could only assume it was his fault his mother had cried. When his father had entered his room a little while later, he was surprised that the man had not yelled. He had simply sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Junmyeon closer, saying there was something very important they needed to discuss.

He had learned then that, yes, it was true he was the second child born to the family. There had been another son born around one and a half year before him. Minseok, just as the tutor had said. Junmyeon had repeated the name softly, and the king had smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately. When the young prince asked the inevitable - where was Minseok? - the king’s smile had faded into a sad expression. He had gone to the afterlife when he was very young, his father had said, and Junmyeon had only nodded.

He knew what that meant. That was where the cat that used to hang around the stables went when it ran away. Did Minseok run away, too? At seven years old, that was a pretty big deal, even if his father had insisted he hadn’t done so to get away from them. He had left because he had to, and Junmyeon had quietly lamented the loss of a playmate.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have other friends. He got to play with the castle workers’ children, like Yixing, the doctor’s son, and sometimes other nobles that tagged along when his parents held those boring meetings, like Yifan. And even if there were no children around, he played with enough of the other workers to never feel lonely, really. But they were not a brother.

It didn’t seem fair that he had never known the other little boy. He wondered if he would have liked him. Would he have shared the toys with him? Would he have been there to help him hide from his tutors when he didn’t feel like learning the impossibilities of letters? Would he have been smart and kind, like Yixing, or strong and competitive, like Yifan? He imagined it would have been nice to have a brother.

But after watching his mother’s reaction, he avoiding voicing that want. It was best he didn’t talk about Minseok.

-

With every year, the kingdom grew, as did the young prince. The heir to the throne was turning into quite the young man, and at the age of twenty-two, he was starting to become more than just “King Minki and Queen Junhye’s son”. Though he shared his mother’s likeness, with his soft features and a smile that had earned him many admirers in the court, and shared his father’s ambition and strength, despite being of a slighter build, he was becoming his own person outside of his title.

He was being allowed into those important talks of finances and trade, given a voice, though small. His parents had allowed him to make his own decisions on the more trivial issues, but they were still _his_ responsibility, and he took what he could get. He had even been allowed to go to the town’s market occasionally, though always flanked by at least one royal guard.

He was growing, turning into a proper prince, though he still could not shake his streak of mischief. But for the most part, he was the model heir, handsome and with a sincere desire to give the subjects the best life possible.

Though that peace did not always extend to the castle staff and tutors.

-

Out of all of Junmyeon’s grand schemes, this was, admittedly, not one of his best.  

At least he had had the common sense to run. Which was what he was currently doing, slinking down the hallway with hurried steps and frequent glances over his shoulder to see if he were being followed. He had nearly knocked over a suit of armor - because obviously he had forgotten the layout of his own castle in his fearful state - and had narrowly avoided colliding with a maid as she carried linens up the stairs.

But as always with these types of situations, he could only avoid the obstacles for so long.

He had turned the corner at the end of the west wing corridor and barreled right into an innocent bystander: His advisor and best friend, Zhang Yixing.

Though the man was slightly taller, he was of a slimmer build, a testimony to his dedication to books over sports. His features, sharper than Junmyeon’s, were softened in surprised as the prince collided with him, knocking the man off of his feet.

To his credit, Yixing _almost_ managed to muffle his shout as he fell. But the prince heard the small squeak of surprise when he landed on his butt in the middle of the tiled floor, staring up with wide eyes at Junmyeon, who had reached out to steady himself against the wall. The advisor took in Junmyeon’s heavy breathing and frantic expression, and needed about ten seconds to piece together the situation, his shock melting into tired irritation.

“Alright,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he remained seated on the floor. “Who did you anger _this_ time?”

Out of all of the expressions Yixing had - the sleepy smile he wore after dinner, the bright laugh that always showed his dimple, the glazed-over look he had when lost in thought or while reading - this one, a knowing frown, was not Junmyeon’s favorite.

Junmyeon opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t get the opportunity to do so as another voice echoed from somewhere in the direction Junmyeon had run from.

“ _Where is he_?”

A small groan fell from Yixing’s lips as he hurriedly got to his feet. “Really, Your Highness? _Kyungsoo_?”

But Yixing did not get an answer as Junmyeon grabbed his wrist and tugged him along. They didn’t get far before they could hear the sound of footsteps, and Junmyeon slipped into the nearest room with Yixing following closely behind. They stood with their backs pressed against the wall, hardly daring to breathe in case it revealed their hiding place, and waited.

It was dreadful, the anxiety that filled Junmyeon at the thought of being caught. Do Kyungsoo may not be the largest of men, but he was certainly one of the angriest. The man had a glare that could wilt pine trees and send the sun scurrying behind the nearest cloud. Junmyeon knew it was a bad idea to push the smaller man with such pranks, and yet he could not help himself. It was in his nature to pick challenging targets, and what better target was there than a history tutor with a short fuse and a love for order?

“If he finds us,” Yixing whispered, the words far too loud for Junmyeon’s liking, “he’s going to string you up by your entrails.”

“Not helping,” Junmyeon hissed back, sucking in a breath and pressing closer to Yixing’s side when the sound of footfalls reached his ears.

“What did you even _do_?” Yixing asked in exasperation.

“Hid his quills,” the prince answered and Yixing sighed.

“You know -”

Junmyeon reached out and covered Yixing’s mouth with his hand. “Sssh. This is _not_ the time for the nightingale to sing,” he chided, half of his attention on the footsteps that were getting louder and louder, just like the beating of Junmyeon’s heart, and Junmyeon almost feared it would be loud enough for Kyungsoo to hear it as well.

Yixing swatted Junmyeon’s hand away and said, sourly but hushed, “Well, if the rose did not waltz around and prick every other person he encountered, there would not be a problem!”

Junmyeon would have answered, but instead he covered Yixing’s mouth again and he swore his soul left him right there when the footsteps sounded right outside the door. He held his breath, Yixing at his side following his example as they listened. As the footsteps continued on and grew fainter, Junmyeon let out a relieved sigh, all the tension draining from his body, his hand falling from Yixing’s mouth.

“And to think you are twenty-two,” the advisor breathed as he ran a hand through his hair.

Junmyeon grinned, daring to open the door and look out for signs of Kyungsoo. “Age is but a number, Xing.”

“Apparently,” came the dry response from Yixing. “I was coming to get you from Kyungsoo’s lesson, actually. I thought I would escort you to your next lesson.”

“Ah, of course.” Junmyeon sighed. “You are here as my advisor, not my friend.”

“I am here as both,” Yixing said in defense, before adding, “and to assure that you do not skip your lessons.”

Junmyeon sniffed in mock affront. “You wound me, to think I would ever do such a thing.” He made a point out of ignoring the disbelieving stare Yixing shot him and spoke before the younger could open his mouth and say something absurd like “ _Well, just yesterday, you skipped you lecture in writing._ ” “We are heading for my sparring lesson, are we not?”

Yixing allowed Junmyeon to change the topic, though not without sending him a knowing look, and nodded. “Yes, but we must first meet up with Yifan. He has more than once voiced his wish to join a sparring session.”

Wu Yifan had arrived with his parents a day earlier. While, at times, the visits were for court or state matters, or a problem in the town Yifan’s father governed, most visits were made due to Yifan and Junmyeon’s friendship, having been playmates since their childhood. Junmyeon had always loved listening to Yifan’s stories about life outside of the capital and Yifan was always entertained by the prince’s recaps of elaborate pranks and his complaints, usually about his dislike for boring topics in the history and culture lessons and how he hated feeling trapped in his own home.

“Oh, right.” Junmyeon snapped his fingers and smiled cheerfully. “He asked me a few times during his last visit. Well then, I might just enjoy this lesson.”

Sparring sessions, though, were some of his favorites, if only because it was one of the only lessons he had that pushed him physically, something far grander than sitting in front of a book, in his opinion, and because it gave him the illusion of freedom - until his tutors refused to fight at their full strength, that is. And then his daydreams of sword fights and battle melted back into his reality: Wooden practice swords and easily dodged blows.

They were supposed to meet Yifan at the gates, but when they arrived, the older man was nowhere to be found. After lingering at the designated rendezvous point for another five minutes, they decided - specifically, _Yixing_ decided - to continue towards the training grounds.

Here they found the duke’s son, standing on the sideline and observing the guards that were either warming up, sparring or talking. Even from a distance, Junmyeon could see the calculation in Yifan’s gaze, how he watched the movements carefully, dissecting each one.  

Had Junmyeon not known the man for years, he could have almost mistaken Yifan for a guard. With broad shoulders and chiseled features, as tall and as handsome as his father, the young lord rivaled the strength of most men, even those trained in the art of combat.

When he saw Junmyeon and Yixing moving towards him, though, he dragged his eyes away from what went on in front of him and instead paid attention to the approach of his friends.

“Good afternoon, Junmyeon, Yixing,” the tall male greeted and Junmyeon grinned at him, coming to stand by his side.

“Hello, Yifan,” he said. “Ready for some sparring? Will you be able to keep up?”

Yifan straightened, grinning back at the prince. “Of course. If we get to spar with each other, I’m afraid you’ll have to kiss the ground.”

A snort came from Yixing, and Yifan turned slightly to look at the advisor. “You doubt me, Yixing?”

Yixing smiled, a characteristic dimple finding its way to his right cheek, and shrugged. “I merely think you should not consider victory that easy a feat. These are royal guards, after all. They are among the best fighters in the kingdom.”

Yifan raised his arm, waving a hand carelessly. “I have sparred enough guards to be able to hold my own.” A smirk fell over his face. “How about a match, Yixing?”

“It’d be better to fight someone a bit more challenging, wouldn’t you say?” a new voice interrupted, and three heads turned towards the sound, catching sight of another man - tall, with lean muscle that showed years of training and a wide smile full of teeth - making his way across the yard.

“Greetings to you, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon said with a short nod of acknowledgement towards the leader of his personal guard, and Junmyeon’s main tutor.

“So you are Park Chanyeol,” Yifan noted, reaching out to grab the man’s forearm in greeting. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“You’ve heard of me?” the man asked as he fitted his own hand around Yifan’s arm tightly.

“Of course,” Yifan responded. “It is not every day that a man of your age reaches the rank of captain.”

Park Chanyeol had become the leader of Junmyeon’s group of guards less than a year ago, marking him as one of the youngest to have taken that title. Being the captain of a royal’s guard demanded a quick mind and a fit body, and while experience was not necessarily a requirement, it was certainly uncommon for a man at the age of twenty to take the position. With most of the males in his family being in the guard or in another military post, Chanyeol had grown up with a sword in his hand rather than a pen. With a natural talent for combat, it had not taken his uncle, his main caregiver after the death of his father, long to notice and start training him.

He had entered the royal guard at the age of seventeen and Junmyeon had met him for the first time a year later. They had hit it off immediately, and Junmyeon especially liked Chanyeol because it hadn’t taken him long to forget who Junmyeon was, treating and talking to him like an equal within minutes of introduction.

“I’m flattered,” Chanyeol grinned. “Pleasure meeting you, too, Lord Yifan.”

“Yifan was just talking about your guards, Chanyeol,” Yixing noted offhandedly, glancing at the person in question. “He seems to question their skills, which, in turn, questions yours as a leader.”

Chanyeol, too, took a closer look at Yifan, who was frowning at Yixing. Yixing looked perfectly calm and composed, as usual, but Junmyeon, having been friends with Yixing since they could walk, could just make out the teasing glint in the younger man’s eyes.

Junmyeon found himself smiling, thrilled at the turn of events. Yixing and Yifan had been friends for almost as long as Junmyeon had, but what was unique about their relationship was their constant urge to tease one another.

“I was not questioning your leadership, Captain,” Yifan started, but Yixing, seeming intent on getting Yifan into trouble, took the word again.

“However, he _definitely_ seemed to think he could take on any of your guards,” the advisor spoke, smiling brightly at Yifan. “Is that not right?”

Chanyeol looked interested and nodded to himself. “Well then, in that case, why don’t we put that theory to the test?”

Yifan, while not seeming quite as cocky as he had been just minutes earlier, was never one to turn down a challenge. “I accept.”

The grin that slid over Chanyeol’s face before he turned away from them would have probably unnerved Yifan, had he only known him a little better. “Hey, Tao! Fancy a warm up?”

A young man, younger than all of them by the looks of it, glanced up from where he was stretching, tilting his head as his eyes scanned the group. While he looked relatively harmless - though always tired, due to the natural circles underneath his eyes - Junmyeon knew enough of Huang Zitao to know looks could be deceiving.

The man had come from a distant district in the kingdom of Luoes. He had grown up without a father and lost his mother at the tender age of six. To survive on the streets, he had trained his body and mind, a rough and ruthless style developing out of the self-taught moves. When he turned fifteen, he joined the district’s military and had that raw ability harnessed and polished into refined skill. He’d been a natural in close combat and was deadly with a stick before he had become a soldier, and with the added structure of martial arts, he had gotten to perfect his swordsmanship.

Working his way through the ranks quickly, he had arrived at the capital only months prior and was assigned to Junmyeon’s personal squad of guards. Outwardly, he looked every bit the thin kid he was in his childhood, long and drawn out, but his strength was there, wound tight around his frame in lean muscles and flexible joints.

But Yifan, apparently, was not aware of his mistake. If anything, his next comment only made it worse.

“The boy?”

Junmyeon watched as fire flickered behind Zitao’s pupils at the question, standing to his full height and making his way closer, each movement graceful and strong. If he were going to refuse before, it seemed he had changed his mind now.

Chanyeol smirked at Yifan, shaking his head. “He may be young, but he’s one of my best men, if not _the_ best.”

Yifan only chuckled, regarding Zitao with a curious gaze. “This is your best?”

“Do I not match up to your usual sparring partners, Lord Yifan?” Zitao spoke for the first time, and Junmyeon watched as Yifan seemed taken aback by the soft voice. But Junmyeon could hear the irritation underneath the words, and he shared a knowing look with Yixing.

“Forgive me,” Yifan started casually, “but your size is… rather unimposing.”

“He makes up for size in his swiftness and strength,” Chanyeol insisted, though he gave a dramatic sigh as he turned to Zitao. “But perhaps a fight against someone with your experience would prove difficult. What do you say, Tao? Do you think Lord Yifan would be a worthy adversary?”

Zitao tilted his head and looked Yifan over. “I agree that he looks like quite the skilled fighter, but I might at least be able to make it interesting.” He stepped closer to Yifan and smiled up at him. “Are you up for it, Lord Yifan?”

Junmyeon chuckled at the look in Yixing’s eyes when Yifan accepted.

“He is going to regret that,” the advisor remarked, voice soft and only meant for Junmyeon’s ears.

“And you are going to enjoy every second,” Junmyeon grinned in response, folding his hands behind his back as he watched Zitao and Yifan preparing themselves for the spar, some of the other guards helping the two with finding training swords. “This will be entertaining.”

Junmyeon could see Yifan glancing around, and he almost felt sorry for the man as he voiced his question.

“Do you not spar with safety gear?”

“Oh?” Chanyeol laughed. “Safety gear with wooden swords?”

“Afraid you will get a splinter?” Yixing teased, and Yifan huffed as he grabbed the nearest training sword.

“I was merely concerned for my opponent,” Yifan countered, testing the weight of the sword in his hands as he peered at Zitao, who seemed to be taking his time in the selection of his weapon.

“Save your concern for after the match,” Zitao responded, spinning the sword with a flick of his wrist before bringing it up in defense.

“Your task for this day’s lesson will be to observe their fight and take notes,” Chanyeol instructed as he backed away from the sparring pair, coming to stand with the prince and his advisor. “Be particularly observant of their fighting style, where their strengths and weaknesses lie.”

Junmyeon nodded, his excitement not lost in the added assignment. “Got it, Chanyeol.”

“You should probably take notes on how _not_ to fight, as well,” Yixing added and Junmyeon snickered.

“I haven’t seen Lord Yifan in combat before,” Chanyeol said, stealing a glance to see if they were ready for the match, “so I have no way of foretelling who will win. I do, however, have experience with cocky young men who think they can fight – but can’t.”

“Yifan has been training for many years and he is good,” the advisor relented, pursing his lips. “However, it will not be an easy win for him.”

“He will find a challenge in Tao, that is for sure,” Junmyeon laughed, and the three of them grew quiet as the sparring pair took to their stances.

Chanyeol shouted a single order for everyone but Yifan and Zitao to step away from the middle of the training ground. He then approached the two young men, placing himself between them as he explained the stipulations of their match.

“This will be a three-touch contest. All contact must be either to the legs, arms, or body. No points will be awarded for blows to the skull. Understood?”

Both men nodded, and Chanyeol grinned, backing up once more.

“Begin!”

Neither of the men reacted to the shout, both watching their opponent with a calculating stare. Yifan was the first to move, circling Zitao, who remained in his spot as he pivoted with the duke’s son.

And then Yifan was advancing with sure, steady swings. Junmyeon could see every move he had ever learned displayed in Yifan’s attack, though admittedly Yifan had much better control of his sword. But even with the technically sound movements, Zitao was able to counter each one effortlessly.

But eventually, one of Yifan’s blows managed to land, connecting with Zitao’s shoulder sharply.

“Point,” Yifan called, a smile on his face as he pulled back, and Yixing let out a disappointed noise. But when Junmyeon turned towards Chanyeol to comment, the captain was hiding a smile beneath his hand. With wide eyes he looked back towards the field, noticing the same expression on Zitao’s face.

“He is baiting him,” Junmyeon whispered incredulously, and Chanyeol nodded.

“That was far too easy of a blow to dodge,” Chanyeol stated. “He allowed Lord Yifan the point.”

“To gage his style,” Yixing finished with a hum, catching on quickly. “And to give him a false sense of security.”

The two faced each other once more, and the prince watched as Zitao’s stance shifted into something lower, more dangerous. Gone was the patient fighter from before and in his place was a warrior, hardened gaze watching Yifan like a predator.

Yifan must have noticed the change as well, giving a moment’s hesitation before advancing once more. This time, however, Zitao did not stay on the defensive.

He blocked Yifan’s downward swing easily, sidestepping the young lord and spinning to land a swing across his back. Yifan let out a grunt at the smart sting of wood against his shoulder blades as Zitao simply resumed his defensive position.

“Point.”

When Yifan sent the younger man a look of disbelief, Zitao smirked. “Something wrong, My Lord?”

Yifan clenched his jaw at the taunt, ignoring the words as he turned and readied himself.

“Oh, very good,” Zitao continued, lowering his stance in anticipation. “You’ve learned not to respond to the comments from your opponent. But your anger is leaving your stance sloppy, your chest open. Raise your sword, My Lord.”

Yifan did what he was told, albeit reluctantly, before stepping towards the younger man again. Zitao countered each blow smoothly, throwing a few of his own into the mix that had Yifan going into the defensive as well. After one particularly impressive block, Zitao spoke again.

“Very good! You’re anticipating my movements now. Perhaps on your next attack you should go for my legs? Low points of contact are a good place to start.”

“I know that,” Yifan bit out, glaring as he tried to concentrate on a plan of attack.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but judging from the fact that the majority of your attempts were on my shoulders and arms, I’d say you would benefit from a reminder.”

Yixing was nearly choking on his laughter as he tried to smother it into a fist, enjoying Yifan’s _lesson_ more than he should, and Yifan’s gaze slid to the group.

Zitao clicked his tongue in scolding. “Your opponent is here. Do not let distractions steal your focus.”

That was about all Yifan could take, and he was lunging forward with gusto, his swings wider and shakier than before. Zitao blocked and ducked, before locking blades with the duke’s son. It was exactly what Yifan wanted, close combat with the other man who did not have the bulk he possessed.

“Zitao may lose this point,” Junmyeon muttered softly, shaking his head. “Though he is strong, Yifan outweighs him.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Chanyeol countered, nodding towards the two men.

And as if waiting for the captain’s cue, Zitao shifted, leaning back and throwing Yifan off balance. As Yifan struggled to regain his footing, Zitao ducked underneath the man’s arms and drug the wooden sword along the duke’s ribs, drawing a hiss from the older man.

“Another point,” Zitao called, setting up behind Yifan with a bounce in his step. “Your strength is impressive, but it won’t do you much good if you allow it to drive your momentum. When locked with an opponent, it’s best to break it as soon as possible. Especially when the weapon is a long sword and not made for close combat.”

Yifan nearly growled at the words, hardly waiting for Zitao to finish before he was charging once more, all finesse in his movements gone in a desire to just hit _something_ on the smaller man. And though the moves were erratic at best, it seemed the unpredictability of the older man’s swings had Zitao faltering slightly, taking a defensive role.

When a particularly rough strike knocked Zitao’s weapon clear from his hands, the training sword rolling to a stop a few yards away, Yifan grinned widely. An opponent without a sword was a gift, and he looked ready to take it, along with his second point.

But as he struck out, Zitao grabbed his wrist and spun, twisting the other man’s arm in the process. With a yelp, Yifan dropped the sword to the dirt below, and Junmyeon gaped as Zitao swept his foot into Yifan’s legs and knocked him to his back with a gasp. With quick actions, the discarded weapon was picked up by the younger man and pushed into Yifan’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Though it was a dull weapon, Yifan winced as it pressed into his sternum, Zitao leaning over the hilt of the sword with a wide grin.

“I believe that’s the match.”

The guards, who had gathered to watch the bout, broke into cheers - though none clapped as loud as Yixing - as Zitao withdrew the sword from Yifan’s chest, extending a hand to help the man up. Yifan didn’t seem too fond of the idea, but allowed Zitao to pull him to his feet.

“Well, Lord Yifan,” Chanyeol started, “did you find the match challenging enough?”

“It was suitable, yes,” Yifan muttered, rubbing at his neck in embarrassment. “Your men are very well trained. Fearless, it seems.”

“Ah, not quite,” Chanyeol said with a smug grin. He glanced over at Zitao, who had taken to gathering the training swords, and called out to the younger man. “Hey, Tao! Is that a spider on your back?”

The bloodcurdling scream that ripped from Zitao’s throat was anything but fearless.

If Junmyeon had not just seen it with his own eyes, he would have never guessed the man jumping around and shaking his shirt out for an imaginary spider was the same fierce fighter who demolished Yifan in a sparring match. Yixing was nearly beside himself in his laughter, switching between watching Zitao whine and teasing Yifan, who stared dumbly at his former opponent, his disbelief practically tangible in the air around him.

“So,” Chanyeol continued after a moment, as if he hadn’t just sent his best fighter into a panicked frenzy, “shall we get to our lesson, then?”

-

Junmyeon and Yifan’s fathers had always enjoyed hunting together, so the king would often take time out of his schedule to join the duke for a hunt in the Royal Forest. Junmyeon and Yifan usually joined their fathers whereas the queen and duchess preferred staying back, talking over tea or going for a stroll in the gardens.

Junmyeon didn’t like hunting trips for the sport, but rather because it was one of the few times where he was allowed to leave the castle’s walls. Granted, Chanyeol always accompanied him together with at least one other guard, so he wasn’t _free_ , but it was close and he’d take what he could get.

Going on horseback was the best option for the short trip to the forest, hence the party found themselves in the stables.

“Your horse is ready, Junmyeon,” Kim Jongdae, a stable hand with a cheeky, kittenish smile, announced as he handed Junmyeon the reins. Jongdae shared a similar height to the prince, but with a wider set in his shoulders, more muscle than Junmyeon’s lean cut.

Jongdae had come to the castle when Junmyeon had been fourteen. He had immediately taken a liking to the stables, preferring the company of animals over humans. When Junmyeon learned that Jongdae’s parents had died prior to his arrival at the castle, he had taken it upon himself to befriend the other boy, but it was only when he had insisted that Jongdae would be the one to care for his horse that Jongdae warmed up to him.

After that, it had only been a matter of time before Jongdae talked freely around Junmyeon, and soon he had been introduced to Yixing and Yifan, who he befriended quickly. Junmyeon’s initiative had broken the shell around Jongdae’s heart and Jongdae had grown from being a quiet, slightly withheld boy to become a clever, optimistic young man.

“You are coming with us, are you not?” Junmyeon asked as he accepted the reins to Lay.

The white stallion had been a birthday gift from his parents when he had turned thirteen years old, and after much trouble coming up with a fitting name, he’d had simply went with Lay. After all, it rhymed with hay, the horse’s favorite meal, and that was about as creative as his young mind could get. Though he still questioned his naming skills in his childhood years, the name had grown on him and he hadn’t had the heart to change it after all of this time.

“I am,” Jongdae replied with a nod as he guided Yifan’s horse out of its stall, a gorgeous brown male. “Only to watch the horses, though.”

Junmyeon shook his head. “And miss out on the hunt? Absolutely not. You will join us, friend!”

Jongdae snorted at the prince as he handed Yifan the reins to his stallion, rolling his eyes in amusement. “As you wish.” His eyes flickered to Yixing, who stood nearby looking severely uncomfortable. “I’ll be right back with your horse, Yixing.”

Junmyeon swung himself into the saddle and grinned down at his frowning advisor. “Why the sour look, Xing?”

“I see no reason as to why I must accompany you on your hunts,” Yixing stated in defiance, looking up at the prince. “You know how I feel about the woods.” He absolutely hated the sport, something Junmyeon knew very well and dutifully ignored on occasions such as these.

“You have never truly given it a chance,” Junmyeon said with a dramatic sigh. “And this is merely an activity for friends. Do you honestly wish to stay behind?”

“Shall I answer that? Or will you ignore my wishes either way?”

Junmyeon made a show out of looking thoughtful before responding. “‘Ignore’ is a strong word. I prefer to think I am simply acting in your best interest.”

Yixing sighed, then scowled at Yifan when he nudged Yixing’s side with the tip of his foot. Yifan was enjoying Yixing’s suffering a bit too much and took great delight in him, for once, being on the receiving end of the teasing. He would have preferred to be the one tormenting the advisor, but, for now, he was alright with just watching.

“Here she is,” Jongdae said upon his return, handing Yixing the reins to his gray mare.

“Thank you, Jongdae,” he said with a tight smile, Jongdae grinning back at him as the two mounted their horses.

A few minutes later, they had gathered in front of the gates and were only waiting for the king and the duke so that they could set off towards the forest. Chanyeol and Zitao had already arrived at the meeting point when Junmyeon and the rest had approached, apparently filling the roles as Junmyeon’s guards for the day.

Not that anything ever happened during these hunts. All of the subjects knew that entering the Royal Forest was forbidden, and the most dangerous situation Junmyeon had been in during a hunt had been a few years ago when he had disturbed the wrong animal. But to be fair, rabbits had been known to attack small children in that area.

It was another five minutes until the king arrived together with the duke and a handful of guards and some staff to take care of the hunting gear until they arrived at the forest and for carrying their prize on the way home. When everyone was ready, the party headed off in the direction of the forest.

For a while, no one spoke more than a casual comment on the landscape or a question about the hunting ground’s game supply for the year, the young men following close behind the more experienced hunters and keeping their eyes on their surroundings, at least for a part of the trip.

Slowly the younger ones started falling behind, all in order to hold conversations without worrying about the rest of the party listening.

As a start, the talk went on the weather and how it was good for a hunt, not too hot, not too cold, and on the wild animals that would be in the forest, but as it was, trips like these soon lost their serious nature. Junmyeon was surprised they had resisted the temptation for this long, after that morning’s events.

“So… Yifan,” Yixing started, having watched Yifan for quite a while and inwardly rejoiced in the way the young lord refused to get near Zitao. “Have you checked for splinters? And bruises?”

Yifan shot the smiling advisor a glare that rivaled that of the history tutor’s. “There are none.”

“Are you sure? Have you checked thoroughly?” Yixing teased and Yifan scowled back.

“You did have quite the fall,” Chanyeol mused playfully.

“And from experience,” Junmyeon joined in, “those training swords are still pretty damaging, though Tao did pull back on his swings.”

“ _There are none_.”

“Are we getting defensive?” Yixing snorted, his horse close enough to Yifan’s to allow him to reach over and pat Yifan’s shoulder. “Now, now, no reason for that. Everyone loses once in a while. It just so happens that your loss was public and terribly embarrassing.”

“Well, _God forbid_ the kingdom is ever attacked by man-eating spiders,” Yifan hissed through clenched teeth, trying to take the attention off of himself.

Zitao stiffened at the words, giving the other man a disapproving look. “Phobias are nothing to joke about, My Lord.”

“Wait,” Jongdae cut in, raising a hand in the air to gather the others’ attention. “What happened?”

Yixing practically cackled at the question. “Of course! Our Jongdae missed the excitement!”

He leered at Yifan, dropping his voice into a dramatic whisper. “ _Shall we tell him_?”

“Breathe a word of it, and I will end you,” Yifan threatened, however, the words seemed to not have the intended effect, as Yixing only laughed harder.

“You see, Jongdae,” he started, steering his horse away from Yifan and closer to Jongdae, who rode beside Junmyeon, “Yifan joined us for a sparring session earlier today and gave everyone a marvelous example of how _not_ to fight.”

“ _Yixing,_ ” Yifan hissed, but the advisor continued as though Yifan hadn’t said anything.

“He challenged Tao, for starters.”

“You challenged _Tao_?” Jongdae asked, lips widening in a partially disbelieving, partially amused smile.

“Yixing all but volunteered me,” Yifan butted in.

“Come now, Yifan. I cannot take all the credit. You did call him ‘ _boy_ ’,” Yixing said condescendingly, as if reasoning with a particularly stubborn child.

“How was I to know better?” Yifan snapped, glaring at the advisor.

“Never underestimate your opponents,” Zitao spoke up, raising his eyebrows at Yifan. “Isn’t that common knowledge?”

Yifan grinded his teeth in frustration, unable to come up with a good comeback, and Junmyeon laughed heartily at his friend’s pain.

“Tao accepted the challenge and crushed Yifan,” Yixing finished, smug smile in place, and Yifan groaned aloud.

“Yixing, you should sleep with an open eye tonight,” the young lord threatened, glaring at the man in question.

Yixing just smiled teasingly in reply.

When they reached the outskirts of the forest, they dismounted and let the stable hands take the reins. Jongdae once again tried to insist he would stay, but Junmyeon would not take no for an answer, and soon he fell in step behind the others.  

“Today we will be hunting for hart,” the king announced as the party equipped themselves with the hunting gear. “Ready your bows and keep your eyes open, boys.”

The party left the stable hands, sans Jongdae, and the staff that had followed behind when they entered the forest, guards staying near and alert.

“As your advisor,” Yixing voiced quietly after a minute, glancing at Junmyeon, “I do not think it was wise of us to leave the horses behind.”

“As your prince, I really do not care,” Junmyeon cheerily replied, bumping shoulders with the younger. “We will be quieter on foot than on horseback. We would not want to scare away the prey, now, would we?”

Yixing merely sighed in resignation. He knew all too well that trying to argue with the prince would be futile in this - _any_ \- situation and so he did not waste his breath.

The party roamed the forest for game for nearly half an hour before the duke signaled that he had sighted a lone deer. However, while the king and the duke closed in on their prey, Junmyeon discreetly walked in another direction. The movement was not lost on Yixing, who was glued to the prince’s side in an instant, tugging him back in the direction of the others.

“Your Highness, the hart is that way.”

“I saw something,” the prince insisted in a whisper, raising a finger to his lips to signal silence. “You will scare it away if you continue to speak.”

He tossed a look towards Chanyeol, nodding towards the stretch of woods behind him, and the guard gave him an amused smile before gaining Zitao’s attention. Yifan watched the exchange silently, giving his father one last look before following behind, and Jongdae practically bounced over, his steps light and full of excitement at the prospect of another deer being nearby.

Yixing bit back the small whine that threatened to bubble up from his chest before dutifully taking his spot behind his prince, allowing the group to stray from the others with a reluctant sigh.

After a few minutes’ walk and no deer, Yixing looked back to find the king and his company out of sight, and then he realized what his prince was intending to do.

“Your Highness -”

“It is _Junmyeon_ , Yixing.”

“ _Your Highness,_ ” he hissed, coming to an abrupt stop as he glared at Junmyeon, who had turned around to give Yixing a bewildered look - but Yixing easily caught the amusement swimming in those brown orbs, too, and he bristled. “You did not see anything, did you?”

“I certainly did. I think I know an opportunity when I see one.”

That earned a snort from Yifan, Jongdae laughing happily as they continued to follow the pair, guards close behind. Yixing moved in front of Junmyeon when the prince tried to continue on.

“We must turn around this instant and go back to the king, and -”

“Come now,” the prince interrupted, eyes crinkling with laughter, “where is your sense of adventure?”

Yixing’s glare turned towards the guards. “And you two knew about this?” When both men simply nodded in response, Yixing groaned.

“There are dangers -”

“Your confidence in us is astounding, Yixing,” Chanyeol spoke up, Zitao chuckling at the sarcasm. “It’s not rare for hunting parties to break off from one another. We know our way back to the horses, and will rejoin the group before nightfall.”

Chanyeol had known for a long time that Junmyeon sought any sense of freedom. Their friendship had given him a peek into Junmyeon’s desire to explore without the ever present eyes of his parents. While his presence on hunting trips did not allow the prince a complete escape, it was more than he was allowed otherwise, and Junmyeon had always been grateful for the chance to roam a little more unrestrained in the forest.

“Besides,” the captain added as an afterthought, his hand falling to the sword at his side, “it’s not as if we’re completely unprepared.”

With that, Yixing fell silent, brooding but compliant. It was not like this was the first time he had allowed Junmyeon to push the boundaries of his limits. Still, the responsible part of him could not give in without voicing his wariness.

“I am going to be stripped of my position of advisor if you insist on disregarding my professionalism,” Yixing muttered, earning a nudge from Junmyeon.

“You _are_ friends with a prince. I am sure I can pull a few strings if needed.”

“And if not, you can always help me tend to the horses,” Jongdae chimed in as he threw an arm around Yixing’s shoulders, oblivious to the unimpressed expression the other wore.

“Lovely.”

After a little while, Yifan spotted tracks from a deer and they follow them, excited about the prospects of going home with a deer in tow. But to their dismay, it led them to the Royal Forest’s borders and continued onwards. Here they stopped, contemplating whether they should keep going or not.

“They are fresh,” Yifan argued, crouching and running a hand over one of the tracks pressed into the soil.

“The deer is close,” Junmyeon hummed, eyes roaming the trees beyond the border.

“ _Your Highness_ ,” Yixing stressed, turning to face the prince. “We have allowed you to push to the limits of your freedom, but this is too far. Those woods are not safe.”

“We will still be close to the borders,” Junmyeon pointed out, throwing Yixing a pleading look. “Close enough to turn back at any time. Where is the harm, Xing?” He then turned to the head of his guards, wordlessly asking for their permission.

Chanyeol, although usually on Junmyeon’s side, was also hesitant at first. But with the pleading look he was given by the prince, he eventually gave in with a nod. “Alright. As long as we stay close to the border.”

And with that said, they were venturing into new land, with new sights and obstacles to learn. It was not much, but it was something undiscovered to Junmyeon, and that was enough to have the adrenaline buzzing in his veins.

Yixing seemed to recognize the giddiness, for he let up on his complaints. For the moment, at least. Instead he engaged in a verbal war with Yifan, which had all of the men laughing at their banter. As was customary for the two, it was Yifan’s shortcomings that served as the main topic of discussion. And Yixing’s mood had increased dramatically because of it, his wit far more cunning that Yifan’s despite the young lord’s education, so Junmyeon did little to help poor Yifan as he spoke of his last hunting trip. He was halfway through describing his kill when Yixing voiced his skepticism.

“You did nothing of the sort,” Yixing insisted, rolling his eyes as Yifan glared viciously in his direction. “There is no way that you, with the stealth and balance of a newborn calf, managed to track down a wolf and kill it with a single blow.”

“And how would you know if I had or not?” Yifan fired back, frustrated at being interrupted again. “While I was hunting with my father, you were probably pouring over your books and ranting about Junmyeon’s latest endeavors.”

“It does not take much to doubt your tales of expert hunting,” Yixing quipped. “One must simply watch you walk across a field to know you do not possess such body control.”

Yifan’s face burned a bright red as he looked away from the smaller man. Zitao reached over to reassure the young lord, mumbling something about how he “ _moved well_ ” in their earlier sparring, but that did not seem to help Yifan’s ego. The advisor watched with amusement, tilting his head to the side.

“Has that clumsiness finally reached your brain, then? Can you not produce a proper response?”

Yifan flushed again, this time in anger. “I would like to see how coordinated you are, since you enjoy belittling my own skill.” He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest as Yixing merely sneered. “I would wager you do not even know how to use that bow strapped to your back.”

It was no secret that Yixing had struggled with his bowmanship in the past. It was part of the reason he protested against hunting as loudly as he did. He could tell a person all they needed to know on hunting: How to hold the bow, what type of wood made the best arrows, what alterations one would need to make on a windy day. His knowledge was textbook perfection; however, he had had the damnedest time translating those words to the field. Books only took him so far, and while his mind excelled, his body fumbled. If not for Junmyeon’s patient teaching, the advisor may have never learned to shoot properly. And Yifan was aware of this.

“I am not untrained,” Yixing spat back defensively. “I know how to shoot.”

“Then prove it,” Yifan challenged. “Or is that mouth of yours sharper than your arrow?”

Yixing pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, locking the shaft into the nock and holding the bow ready to be drawn. “Name your challenge.”

Yifan glanced around for a moment, a grin spreading across his features, and he pointed a little ways ahead of them. “You see the oak tree just ahead? About forty paces?” When Yixing nodded, he continued, “From where we are, I bet you cannot hit it.”

Yixing eyed the tree warily, mentally calculating the distance before nodding. Junmyeon watched as the man pulled back his arm, the fletching held close to his cheek. The draw was with beautiful form, his chest left open in his stance and his eyes on his target, and Junmyeon took a breath in time with Yixing’s as he prepared to shoot.

One breath, two, and the arrow went flying towards the tree. And kept flying past it, the shot wide and to the right.

“How anticlimactic,” Yifan said around a loud laugh. “For a moment there, you actually looked like an archer.”

“Even I could’ve gotten closer,” Jongdae chuckled. “And I’ve always been terrible with a bow.”

“It was a good draw,” Junmyeon commented, before giving Yixing a pat on the shoulder. “Just a poor shot.”

Yixing cursed under his breath, escaping the teasing by going to retrieve the arrow. But even as he disappeared between the trees, Yifan was hollering after him.

“Getting _defensive_ , are we?”

He received no answer, and Yifan smiled at the victory. It was not often that he stumped Yixing in a battle of the wit. “I do not know if his lack of skill is a testament to his own shortcomings as an archer, or your shortcomings as a teacher, Jun.”

Junmyeon shoved him a little harder than necessary, rolling his eyes. “It is not a lack of skill, but of practice. If he -“

“Quiet.” Chanyeol held up a hand, eyes narrowed and whole body suddenly pulled taut like the string of the bow Yixing had just drawn earlier. Zitao stood still at his side, as well, appearing to be listening to whatever had alerted his captain, and the group fell silent at the soft command.

“Captain Park?” Yifan murmured, moving closer to the other man in order to talk together in hushed voices. “What is it?”

“Your Highness,” Zitao spoke, at Junmyeon’s side in the blink of an eye, “stay close to me and _do not_ venture away until I have given you permission, alright?”

“Understood,” Junmyeon said softly. He may not always listen to the orders given to him, but even he was able to read the situation and _this_ did not bode well. He glanced towards the spot where Yixing disappeared. Was he having trouble finding his arrow?

“I think I heard something,” Chanyeol said slowly in answer to Yifan’s question as everyone gathered around Junmyeon and Zitao. Chanyeol and Zitao both had a hand on the hilt of their sword, ready to draw their weapon, should it come to that.

“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” Chanyeol voiced. “Tao, stay by Junmyeon’s side, and Lord Yifan, kindly do the same. Jongdae, you stay behind me.”

He had barely spoken the words before he suddenly spun around, sword drawn and raised, poised to attack. Zitao, too, had drawn his weapon, and Yifan, who always carried a sword, followed the two guards’ example when he saw men appear from behind the surrounding trees and bushes.

Junmyeon counted four strangers and felt his mouth go dry, moving closer to Zitao’s side. One of the men did not appear at all threatened by the weapon Chanyeol was currently aiming at him, as if he found the captain’s reaction amusing. His eyes trailed over the group, ending at Junmyeon, and the prince watched as recognition crossed the man’s features.

“Now, would ye look at that,” he said, his lips widening into a grin. Zitao, noting the gaze, quickly pulled Junmyeon behind him and scowled at the stranger.

“State your business,” Chanyeol spoke, his deep voice kept in a low tone and sounding more dangerous than normal.

“Hunting,” the man answered easily, though Junmyeon could not see any bow, only a short sword strapped to his side. He was practically leering at Junmyeon’s half-hidden form, and the prince had the sudden thought that it was not animals they were hunting.

“Bandits,” he whispered, and Zitao gave a brief nod.

“There’s no game here,” Chanyeol spoke quickly, shaking his head. “Continue on your way.”

“And let go o’ such a fine catch?” the man chuckled, a hand thrown out towards Junmyeon. “Men, it’d seem like we hit the jackpot today. We’re in the presence of His Royal Highness, _the prince himself_.”

His eyes slid to Yifan, who shifted underneath his gaze, and the man’s smile grew. “ _And_ a young lord, I see. Even better.”

Junmyeon tensed when two more men appeared and formed a ring around them. Chanyeol dared a look behind, mouth forming a tight line when he counted six men in total. Chanyeol then snapped his eyes back to the stranger, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“You won’t lay a hand on either,” he growled, causing the man to release a short, mocking laugh.

“No?” With a wave of his hand, a seventh man appeared, and Junmyeon’s breath hitched at the sight of his best friend, struggling in the stranger’s bruising hold, the bow and quiver held out of his reach. Yixing looked terrified, glancing rapidly between the stranger and Junmyeon, and the prince could not hold back his outburst.

“Yixing!”

The man, who appeared to be the leader of the group of bandits, grinned towards Junmyeon before motioning for the man holding Yixing to come closer. “That’s the name of yer friend?” he mused, grabbing a hold of Yixing’s jaw and turning his face to one side, then the other, as though expecting an item at the market. “With such a pretty face, he’d bring in quite the profit.”

The whimper that slipped past Yixing’s lips was not lost on his friends. Yifan seethed, appearing only seconds from lunging at the man who had caught his friend. Junmyeon fought against Zitao, but the guard was far stronger than Junmyeon and would not allow the prince to leave his side and risk getting wounded or captured like Yixing.

“Drop yer weapons.” The leader’s voice had taken on a dark edge as his eyes turned away from Yixing’s scowling face, still holding his jaw tightly even as he looked straight at Chanyeol. “Drop ‘em,” he repeated, pulling Yixing forward and into his own arms, “or I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt yer friend.”

Outnumbered three to one, cornered, and with Yixing in the enemy’s hands, Junmyeon came to the grim realization that the odds were not in their favor. He saw Chanyeol drop his sword, having obviously reached the same conclusion, and Junmyeon’s eyes went to Yixing’s form, watching his friend fight in vain to be released, and he felt something heavy settle in his gut.

This was not the kind of adventure he had wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: We didn’t plan for this first chapter to be this damn long. It is ~9.700 words and I swear, I don’t know how that happened. Anyway, if you’ve made it here, kudos to you and thank you! It must have taken up a lot of time, haha, and we appreciate it! (Another fun fact: We hadn’t planned the hostage situation either, but oh well. Who are we to deny our muses?) 
> 
> I hope you liked Chapter 1. We’ve put a lot of thought and time into it, so yay! And oh - look! EXO! (Or, at least, some of them.) Thank you so, so much for reading, and I hope you’ll wait for the next updates! It won’t be too long - we’re currently writing Chapter 4! (The next two chapters are around the Prologue’s length, so worry not (or, if you love long updates, be sad and we’re sorry).
> 
> Meg’s Notes: Woo (Nat’s comment: Wu), that was a long one. But look, main characters! (Well, some of them.) Like Nat said, this chapter went from “are we going to have enough material to write?” to “damn, this chapter is long.” And one impromptu hostage situation later, here we are! 
> 
> Ah, so, we are moving through some of these chapters, though they need some serious editing (our favorite thing *note the sarcasm*). But we are excited for this next chapter (very excited (Nat cackles in the background)), so I hope you watch out for it! And as always, thanks in advance for any support/comments we are given! They make our day (shameless wink and nudge)! 
> 
>  
> 
> Look for connections, as mentioned in the Prologue! We shall give you two hints: Numbers play a large part. Let’s take an example from the Forewords: We have planned 10 chapters with a prologue and an epilogue. This means 12 chapters. 12 = EXO! Also, pay attention to pet names.
> 
> Lovely readers, happy New Year, and we will see you for Chapter 2!


	3. And Buckle Underneath the Truth

It was as if time had slowed down in the forest, the members of the hunting party throwing their weapons down one by one. The quiet thud of bows and swords seemed to echo behind Junmyeon’s ribcage, his throat closing a little more with every weapon dropped. Soon, it was only his weapon that remained, clutched tightly in his fist as if even his fingers were rebelling against the situation. He could make a shot, he thought. He could move fast enough to draw an arrow and bury it in the leader’s skull.

But as if anticipating his thoughts, the man who held Yixing produced a knife from a sheath strapped to his side, pressing it harshly underneath Yixing’s chin, and Junmyeon’schest tightenedpainfully at the fear in Yixing’s eyes. The sight of the blade to Yixing’s throat was enough to have him hesitate, because no matter how fast he was, the knife would be faster.

Reluctantly, he allowed his own bow to slip from his grasp and join those already on the ground. He flinched as it hit the forest floor, earning a smirk from the leader.

“There’s a good lad,” the leader said, his eyes sweeping over the group as he gave a nod. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

He crooked a finger towards Junmyeon, and then Yifan. “Now, why don’t the blue bloods join in on the fun?”

Chanyeol immediately placed himself in front of the two nobles, his body nearly shaking in rage. “You will not touch them.”

“I don’t think ye have much o’ a choice,” the leader snapped, the smile slipping momentarily to expose his impatience. “Hand ‘em over.”

Chanyeol fisted his hands, desperately searching his mind for a way out of this situation, grinding his teeth when he ended up with nothing. A single look at Zitao told him that the younger didn’t know what to do either.

“Chanyeol,” Yixing hissed, and Chanyeol’s eyes snapped to the advisor held hostage, “if you dare let them walk straight into the enemy’s hands just because I -”

The _smack_ resounded in the otherwise quiet forest. Yixing’s head whipped to the side with the force behind the slap, and Junmyeon had never felt this useless before, with Zitao still restraining him from running to Yixing’s side, mindless of the enemy.

“Ye be quiet,” the leader sneered at Yixing, tightening the hold on the advisor’s upper arm and settling the knife at his throat again. “Now,” he said, attention once again on the group, “are ye going to hand ‘em over without anyone getting hurt? Or not?”

In the silence that ensued after his question, he seemed to find his answer.

“Men,” he said, nodding at some of them before looking at the party again, a hardened look in his eyes. “Take ‘em.”

All at once, the men swarmed, and Junmyeon had only a second before there was a strong grip on his shoulder. He pulled against the restraints, breaking free when Zitao landed a vicious punch to the man’s jaw.

“Your Highness, _go_!”

“But Yixing -” the prince sputtered, eyes falling to the advisor again. The man was still in the other’s hands. The only thing that seemed to be saving him from the knife was the fact that the leader seemed to be entertained by their attempts, watching with a smug expression.

Zitao was pushing him further from the enemy, and Junmyeon scrambled away, watching as his guards picked up their weapons once again and blocked the strangers’ attacks. Chanyeol let out a yell as he countered, charging towards the enemy with renewed strength, and Jongdae had even found use in his bow, swinging it hard to connect with the back of one man’s skull.

“We will get him, I swear it, but you _must_ get away!” Zitao shouted over the clash of steel around them, pushing his way towards the advisor as he fought. Chanyeol mimicked the movement, the two guards doing their best to make sure they kept to that promise.

The bandits, seeing the guards’ intentions, focused their efforts on keeping the two at bay. Yixing watched from the side in frustration as the guards were knocked back again and again, before noticing Yifan managing to break free of his own fight. He met the young lord gaze, his mind thinking quickly. He had to give them an opportunity to get the upperhand.

With a clenched jaw and as much strength as he could muster without burying the knife in his own throat, Yixing reared his head back, catching the leader in the mouth with his head. The man’s teeth sliced the skin of his scalp at the blow, and Yixing winced as his head spun, but the leader pulled the knife from his throat enough for Yixing to pull away from him.  

“Yifan!” the advisor called, and the young lord took the opening.

“Junmyeon, your bow!” Yifan roared, swooping down to grab his own as he drew an arrow, and Junmyeon frantically searched for his. Dodging a lunge from one of the men, the young lord managed to take aim and let the arrow fly, and Junmyeon watched as the tip of it plunged into the leader’s shoulder. The man howled in pain, dropping his knife in favor of gripping the staff of the arrow, and Yixing slipped from his hold.

Junmyeon’s heart lept to his throat as Yixing stumbled from the intruders, catching himself with his hands before he continued towards the others. But the prince was already closing the distance between them, bow once again secure in his hand.

Junmyeon skidded to a halt by Yixing’s side, placing a hand on each of his shoulders as he scrutinized him, the relief of having Yixing near and safe for the moment almost overwhelming him. “Are you hurt?”

“Fine, fine,” Yixing assured, wide eyes glancing past Junmyeon’s shoulder and towards the battle behind him. “We have to get you and Yifan away from here and back to safety. _Now_.”

As Junmyeon went to respond, a hand fisted in the back of his collar, yanking him backwards as another man grabbed Yixing around the torso. “Yixing!” Junmyeon called, struggling to break the hold on his clothes, but the bite of metal between his shoulder blades had him freezing in his attempts. The bow was taken from his hands without much of a fight, tossed to the ground a few paces away.

“Be still, boy,” the leader hissed in the prince’s ear, pressing his knife a little harder into his skin. “Or I will gut ye right here.” Junmyeon could see the rage in the man’s eyes, an open wound remaining in his shoulder from where the man had removed Yifan’s arrow. It did little to slow his motions. If anything, it had only seemed to anger him.

Behind him, Junmyeon could hear Chanyeol calling for Yifan, before the young lord’s own pained yell rang out. He glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Yifan being hauled to his feet by one of the men, his arms twisted painfully behind his back.

“Silence,” the leader barked, manhandling Junmyeon until the prince faced his group once more.

The numbers of the enemy had weighed heavily on the hunting party, and though the guards were certainly highly qualified, there was only so much they could fend off. Their weapons had been taken this time, wrenched from their hands by the others and kept out of reach. They had still fought, but without their swords and bows, their bodies had taken a beating. Chanyeol seemed to have taken the worst of it, blood trailing down the right side of his face from a nasty cut just above his eyebrow, one arm held a little closer to his side than usual. Zitao was much the same, his chest heaving as he spit out a mouthful of blood, wiping away what spilled from his lips with the back of his hand. Even Jongdae had sustained a shallow cut to his left shoulder, blood seeping into the white fabric of his shirt.

“Ye just had to make it difficult, hmm?” the leader taunted, pressing the blade a little harder into Junmyeon’s back. “Ye could’ve avoided all o’ this, had ye just handed ‘em over when I asked.”

“You will not get away with this,” Yifan grunted, wincing when the pressure on his arms was increased.

“I believe I already have,” the leader mused, chuckling darkly.

“If you think we won’t hunt you down, you are mistaken,” Chanyeol spoke up, straightening to his full height in a show of defiance, even as he grimaced at the pain the movement brought. “We will find you, and no mercy will be shown.”

“Ah,” the leader hummed, “but dead men cannot hunt.” He gave a quick nod to the surrounding men. “We have the prince and Duke Wu’s son. Kill the spares.”

“No!” Junmyeon shouted, struggling against the hold on him. “No, let them live. They have nothing to do with this.”

“You would kill unarmed men?” Yifan spat, pulling against his restraints. “I swear to God, if you dare harm them, I will _skin you alive_.”

Trying to keep control, the young lord’s captor reached up to pull Yifan’s head into a chokehold. But Yifan had other plans. When the man’s hand was in front of him, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the meat of the other’s thumb. The man cried out in pain, cursing as he tried to break from Yifan’s bite. The hand holding the young lord’s arms lifted briefly, only to bring a hard fist down against the back of Yifan’s head.

Junmyeon struggled harder against his own captor when Yifan’s body went limp, the prince growing more frantic in his attempts to get away. He could already see the other men circling closer to his friends, weapons drawn and ready. Yixing was shoved towards the others, Zitao catching him and pulling him behind him protectively. Yixing, though, didn’t seem to care for protecting, trying to get past the guard, his eyes locked on Junmyeon.

“Please,” Junmyeon begged, his gaze moving rapidly between his friends and the leader. “Please, I will give you anything. Gold, jewels… I-I will go with you without a fight. But let them go. _Please_.”

The leader smirked at the prince’s words, shushing him. “Ye’ll go with us whether ye want to or not.”

He reached out to grab the young man’s chin, holding it so he faced the group in front of him. “But first ye’ll watch ‘em die.”

Junmyeon could feel the tears burning behind his eyes, and he drew in a ragged breath as he looked towards the others. Chanyeol and Zitao had dutifully placed themselves on the outsides, trying to shield the others in a final attempt to fight the enemy off. Jongdae, too, stood at the ready, his hand trembling even as his jaw clenched in determination, however small.

But out of all of them, it was Yixing that Junmyeon’s eyes lingered on. His advisor was fighting the hold Zitao had on him, fear and worry on his face, not for himself, but for Junmyeon. It made his heart twist painfully in his chest, the desperation in his friend’s gaze, and he instinctively leaned forward, trying to reach him. But he was held in his place, unable to comfort his friends in their last moments, helpless for what was to come.

Seeing the exchange, the leader chuckled, holding Junmyeon’s face a little tighter. “Save the pretty one fer me, men. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Junmyeon tensed at the words, horror and anger swelling in his gut as Yixing paled, the undertones in the leader’s voice clear. The prince swallowed hard, unable to look away, unable to breathe as the other men closed in.

There was movement to Junmyeon’s right, and the leader let out a surprised breath.

“That is quite enough.”

The voice was so quiet that Junmyeon nearly missed it, but he could clearly see the man’s hand as it wrapped around the leader’s forearm, shaking his grip from Junmyeon’s chin. With a sharp tug, the man’s arm was pulled away, and as the leader squawked in protest, a hard punch caught him in the nose. Junmyeon could hear the _crack_ of bones breaking, and he was released completely.

He turned rapidly, watching in shock as a hooded man stepped over the leader’s crumbled body quickly, and Junmyeon stumbled back, away from the imposing figure. He reached for his bow, his other hand searching the ground for his arrows as he watched the newcomer’s gaze fall to him. But the man simply stepped past him with a quick nod, grabbing the leader’s weapon from the forest floor. Chanyeol and Zitao had taken the opening created by the distraction, taking down two of the men surrounding their group before turning their attention to the remaining threat. Chanyeol managed to grab his sword, tossing Zitao his as he turned to block an erratic swing from one of the men. Zitao wasted little time in storming towards the man who still held Yifan’s unconscious form.

The hooded man fell in to defend Jongdae and Yixing, fighting off the others who tried to approach easily. His fighting style was rough, almost nonexistent, but the sheer power of his swings and the strength in his blocks nearly vibrated the air around him. He was born to be a fighter, of that Junmyeon was sure.

In minutes, the fight was over, the bandits either knocked cold or having fled after the disposal of their leader. Junmyeon’s eyes found the hooded figure as the woods fell silent once more.

He watched as he removed his hood, and was surprised by how young the man looked. He was older, no doubt, but youth still clung to him in round cheeks and wide eyes, even with the stern expression he wore. He hardly looked out of breath at all, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath the green fabric of his shirt. The stranger nudged one of the fallen bandits with his foot, sneering at the man before turning his focus towards the prince.

Junmyeon did not have time to question the look in his eyes as his vision was blocked by a certain advisor.

“Stupid,” Yixing muttered, grabbing the front of Junmyeon’s shirt and giving him a shake. “I _told_ you we shouldn’t have ventured out here, but _did you listen_? You could have been killed. We could have all been killed.”

“Are you alright?” Junmyeon asked softly, ignoring Yixing’s words.

Yixing scoffed, looking away before realizing he still held Junmyeon’s shirt in his fists. He let go quickly, touching the back of his head. Junmyeon could see the blood that stained his fingers when he pulled his hand back down to his side, but Yixing only gave a short nod. “I am fine,” he insisted. He glanced back up at Junmyeon, worry replacing the anger in his expression. “Are you?”

“I am,” Junmyeon said after a moment, turning his attention to the other members of the hunting party. He looked towards Chanyeol, who was watching Jongdae help Zitao with Yifan, the young lord starting to stir. He winced as he took in the fresh injuries from the second bout of fighting, shaking his head. “Better than most.”

His eyes found the stranger when the man cleared his throat, regaining the group’s attention.

“These woods are known for groups like this one,” he said quietly, a hand gesturing to the fallen men. “The next time you pass through this area, it would be wise to keep your weapons at the ready. I may not be passing by when you find yourselves in another dire situation.”

A thought struck Junmyeon at the other’s words.

“You know these woods?” Junmyeon asked, waiting until the man nodded before continuing. “Are you from around here?”

“I am from where I am from,” the man answered cryptically, before adding, “But, nearby, yes. It is not important. What is important is why these men seemed to target you.”

Junmyeon paused at the response. “You do not know me?”

The man tilted his head, taking in Junmyeon’s features fully, before shaking his head.

“Should I?” he questioned.

Junmyeon hesitated, glancing towards his friends. They were already injured. Though they were trained for any situation, a second confrontation would surely overwhelm them. This man had rescued them; however, it seemed he had done so without knowing their titles. With how he fought, the prince was certain he didn't want this man as an enemy. For now, his title was not necessary.

“I’m Suho, a known tradesman in the city.”

He had always been partial to the name, ever since a foreign languages lesson a few years back. He had come upon the word and its meaning in a book and had taken an immediate liking to it. The burning desire to protect his subjects and everyone he held dear had him choosing that specific name as his alias, what with the meanings being _guardian, protector_ and _passion_.

Chanyeol glanced over at the prince as he spoke, noting the persona given. Junmyeon knew they would follow suit and keep their identities hidden. It was not safe to be nobles here, vulnerable ones at that.

The other made a hum of acknowledgement, but shrugged. “I don’t find myself in the city often. You are a far way from home, sir. I suggest you return there as quick as possible.”

The man turned to leave, and Junmyeon stepped towards him, calling out. “Wait!”

The other paused, tossing a look over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Junmyeon fought to collect his words under the scrutiny of his gaze, struggling to sort through his thoughts.

“Why did you help us?” he finally said, settling for the most pressing question.

The other shrugged again, looking away. “I don’t take kindly to those who prey on the defenseless. It was the least I could do to help someone who’d have otherwise met an unfair demise.”

“Allow me to repay your kindness,” Junmyeon started, ignoring the tug to his sleeve from Yixing. “I can give you money, or food if it suits you.”

“I have no need for your money,” the man stated, “nor do I want your food. Get yourself home, and you can consider the debt paid.”

“At least give me your name,” Junmyeon continued. “I wish to know who I shall thank when I remember this day.”

The other man wavered, uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. “I am but a shadow. It’s best you forget my face.”

“A shadow who saved our lives,” Junmyeon countered, and the other sighed, giving a soft smile.

“If anything, Suho, you’re persistent,” he murmured, before nodding. “You may call me Xiumin.”

“Xiumin,” the prince repeated, giving the newly named man a grateful smile. “Thank you, friend.”

“Go, Suho,” Xiumin insisted gently, tossing his head towards the general direction of the city. “Your friends need their wounds tended to.”

And then he was gone, leaving Junmyeon to stare at the spot he had occupied just moments before. Yixing tugged at his sleeve again, pulling his attention back to his advisor.

“Yifan is waking up,” he announced. “We must leave.”

With a final glance towards the surrounding trees, Junmyeon allowed Yixing to lead him back to the others.

He glanced around the group as they finally started to make their way back to safety, Yifan awake but propped up between Zitao - who had not left his side since he woke - and Chanyeol, and Jongdae walking a little more gingerly than before. Even Yixing seemed to have developed a limp, and the skin of his cheek was starting to bruise. But Junmyeon was trying to stay optimistic. They were hurt, but they were alive.

That could easily change, however, once they made it back to his father and Lord Weishan.

-

Having grown accustomed to his title, there were not many occasions where Junmyeon felt burdened by his status. He was the prince, yes, but first and foremost, he was Junmyeon.

His father, however, felt otherwise. He was forever reminding Junmyeon that he was the heir, the prince that would take the throne one day, and it always seemed to be brought up in times of crisis. Obviously, the king felt his son nearly being killed in the forest during a hunting trip gone wrong fell into that category.

It wasn’t like Junmyeon had a death wish. He was reckless at times, maybe, but he was still young. He was going to make mistakes. But his bloodline meant he wasn’t allowed to make those mistakes, and it was hard to handle such high expectations at times. He understood, but it still didn’t seem very fair.

Regardless of his disdain for his limitations, Junmyeon _did_ feel guilty for the day’s mishaps. Especially when he had dragged his friends down with him.

After what felt like eternity on horseback, listening to Minki and Weishan repeatedly voice their concerns and their disappointment, they had been ushered to the medical wing to be fixed up - just what they needed, _another_ parent to join in on the lecture - and then brought before the parents. They were lucky their wounds were relatively minor, they had been told, the worst of them easily stitched up.

Now they were all gathered in the throne room, eyes trained on the stone floor below to avoid the disappointment in the eyes of the parents that stood before them. Minki and Junhye, Weishan and Kuai Hua, and Guozhi created quite the image of parental control.

“What were you thinking?” Minki asked sharply, and Junmyeon flinched at the words. “What could have possibly been so important that you stepped out of the Royal Forest’s boundaries?”

“There were tracks,” Junmyeon started quietly, chancing a glance up, but fell silent at the stern look in his father’s eyes.

“A hart is not worth your safety. Or the safety of the others.”

“Sire,” Chanyeol spoke up, shifting in his stance and readjusting his fresh bandages. Guozhi had made sure each and every one of them was no longer bleeding before they were led to the metaphorical slaughter. Cruel, really. “If I may -”

“You may not,” the king snapped. “As a captain, I expected more from you.” Chanyeol shrunk back at the words, his head bowed in guilt.

“And you, Yixing,” Minki continued, and Junmyeon could see Yixing tense at the mention of his name. “Putting the prince in a vulnerable position, where harm could easily come to him, is hardly the level of professionalism I have come to associate with you.”

“Father, please,” Junmyeon cut in, “this is not their fault.”

“It was Junmyeon and I who persuaded them to venture out of bounds,” Yifan added quickly, his voice still holding a note of unsteadiness from his injuries.

“And I will be sure to address your actions later,” Weishan chimed in, Yifan’s gaze lowering once more to the floor as he lost his momentary confidence. “After Minki has said his piece.” With a nod, Minki continued.

“Not only did you disregard your responsibilities as the future leader of this kingdom, but you put yourself and those around you in danger. It is a wonder you are standing here at all, let alone with as minor of injuries as you have.” He gestured towards the guards once more. “Though I am severely questioning your judgment in allowing the party to move into unknown territory, I thank you for keeping Junmyeon safe. I fear what would have happened had he been alone.”

“But Sire,” Chanyeol started, only for Junmyeon to interrupt.

“They fought well, Father, even when I had placed them in such a compromising situation,” the prince said as he met Chanyeol’s eyes, giving the slightest shake of his head. He had anticipated his guard’s intentions, and with the amount of trouble they were in, he doubted it would be wise to mention it was a random stranger who saved the day and not the royal guards. No, Xiumin should remain a mystery, as he had wished.

“Please do not think poorly of them,” Junmyeon continued, meeting his father’s gaze as firmly as he could. “If anyone deserves punishment, it is me.”

“Us,” Yifan corrected, stepping up next to Junmyeon.

The throne room was silent for a moment, before the king sighed. “For now,” he said, “our decision will be postponed, but only because we must discuss the severity of the punishment.” The other parents nodded, agreeing to the statement. They had yet to figure out exactly what to do with a rebellious prince and his friends.

“In the meantime, however, you will remain within the gates. It will be a long time before you will be trusted with another hunt.”

Junmyeon opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on the tip of his tongue at his mother’s expression, full of disappointment for her son. With a soft sigh, he relented, nodding in acknowledgment.

“And we are not through talking about this,” Minki warned. “I will talk to you privately, as I am sure Weishan shall do with you, Yifan.”

“And as for the rest of you,” Weishan spoke up, his eyes sweeping over Chanyeol, Zitao, and Jongdae respectively, “you will be reprimanded separately at a later time.”

“But they will keep their positions,” Junmyeon insisted immediately.

“You are in no place to make demands,” Minki quipped, but, after a moment, nodded. “But yes. So long as nothing like this ever happens again.”

All of the boys nodded readily in agreement, and the king waved a hand towards the door.

“Dismissed.”

The young ones darted out of the room, in a hurry to get away from the lectures, while the remaining parents stayed behind. Once the door closed behind the last one, Minki felt a hand on his forearm, and he turned slightly to face his frowning wife.

Junhye considered her words for a moment, before saying in a soft voice, “Do you not think you were being too harsh? They are still young, Minki.”

She disliked seeing her son without his signature smile. A scolding was necessary, she knew, but Junmyeon was her son and she just wanted him to be happy and safe. She, just like Minki, wanted to protect him from all the dangers in the world, the dangers they hadn’t been able to protect Minseok from, but if it were at the cost of Junmyeon’s happiness, his smile, she would always stop and reconsider.

“They know they did wrong,” Kuai Hua voiced, her gaze moving between Minki and her husband. “Is their guilt not enough to show them some leniency?”

“Their guilt would not have saved them from death,” Weishan countered quietly. “Nor would it have saved them from any other intentions those men had for them.”

Guozhi was a man of few words, if only because he tended to listen and reflect over what was being said; however, he had listened enough this time around to have developed an opinion on the matter at hand. “What they did was dangerous. It is of the utmost importance that they know what consequences their actions will reap, and in this case, the outcome could have been a life of slavery or death. As parents, it is our responsibility to assure they are aware of this and to reprimand them for doing wrong.”

He trailed off, then added, “However, sometimes lessons cannot be learned unless they are experienced. Life is the harshest teacher, after all. After today’s fright, they will not soon forget their mistake.”

“But where was that fear before they encountered the dangers?” Minki asked, growing more and more agitated by the second. “How are they supposed to be safe if we do not tell them what is to be feared?”

“Some fears can only be verified once they are felt,” the doctor replied. “You could have gone easier on them, Minki.”

“The bandits would not have gone easy on them,” Minki argued. “A lesson cannot be learned if they are dead.”

“They are not dead,” Guozhi reminded in a kind tone.

“But they could have been,” the king insisted. “They should have all known better.”

“How could they have known when they are as sheltered as they are, Minki? They -”

“I _cannot_ lose another son!” Minki bellowed, shaking from the intensity of his outburst. “I have failed once at protecting a child and I will be _damned_ if I fail again.”

Silence befell the occupants in the room, each individual hesitating at the sudden rise in tension, their conversation slipping into sensitive territory. The topic of the regents’ oldest child was seldom brought up in fear of others hearing or of reawakening emotions locked away long ago. But it seemed the recent events had sparked those thoughts in the king’s mind once more, growing louder with each defense for the boys’ actions.

“Minki…” Junhye was the first to speak, reaching for the king’s hand and squeezing it gently. “You still blame yourself, after all this time?”

The remaining three saw this as their cue to leave the regents alone and so, without a word, slid out of the room. There would be time later to discuss the younger ones’ punishment, but, for now, it would be best to give the king and queen some space.

It was a long moment before the king spoke again, and when he did, the anger was gone, replaced by sorrow.

“Is he even alive, Junhye?” he asked, an air of resignation surrounding him. “We have heard nothing and while that was always the plan, it is torture. Something could have happened to either of them. Maybe Minseok’s body has submitted to sickness or - or Kou has and Minseok is alone. What if Minseok is -”

“Dear,” Junhye quickly interrupted, sensing her husband wouldn’t stop unless she cut in. “Minseok is safe, as is Kou. They are both alive. We just have to keep believing in them.” Although the queen worried, too, she knew the king needed to hear her say that. They both needed the assurance, for even as she spoke, her mind filled with her own doubt, her stomach with dread. Either way, this time, she would be that anchor he needed.

Another silence settled over them, and then the king spoke.

“We know nothing about our own son,” he sighed. “It is hard to believe in a shadow.”

Junhye gave her husband’s hand another gentle squeeze. “Worrying will not help, and you know that, Minki. There is nothing we can do but wait for our son to return to us.”

She paused, but then added something she felt the king needed to hear, “Do not blame yourself for the actions of others. It is not your fault.”

Minki enveloped his wife’s hand in his own and smiled fondly, the expression slightly dampened by the thorns of doubt still pricking his heart. “It will not be long, now. March will be upon us soon.”

The queen saw the comment for what it was, her husband carefully avoiding her assurances that he was not to blame for what happened to Minseok. However, instead of pushing the matter, she dropped it, knowing she would not be able to convince him. “Yes. Very soon.”

Many words were left unspoken in the look they shared, before they both turned towards the window. Outside, night had fallen long ago, stray stars scattered across the sky shining brightly, the only reprieve from the darkness around them.

The king paid particular attention to the stars, noting how they seemed dimmer, like a reflection of his own dark thoughts.

The queen, however, clung tightly to their gleam.

-

“Well,” Junmyeon sighed as he lowered himself to sit on his bed, relieved to be out of his hunting garb and now clad in the soft cotton of his sleeping attire, “that could have gone worse, I suppose.”

“How so?” Yixing questioned as he closed the door behind him, turning to lean his back against the heavy wooden doors.

“Father could have replaced you,” Junmyeon said with a teasing smirk, and Yixing rolled his eyes.

“There would not be any volunteers. Not after that spectacular scolding.”

They had listened and listened and listened _again_. As if they had not realized they had nearly been killed, or in the nobles’ case, sold into God knows what circles of the black market or taken for ransom. But if they had even tried to forget it, their fathers were there to remind them with heavy sighs and angry words.

The parents had found their sons again later on, and Yixing and Junmyeon had only just slipped away from their respective scoldings an hour ago, choosing to take their late dinner in the kitchen and away from any remaining life lessons the adults chose to bestow upon them.

“How many ways can you rephrase disappointment in your son?” Junmyeon mused aloud, shaking his head. “I am certain we heard at least seven tonight.”

“Six too many,” Yixing hummed as he closed his eyes, resting his head against the door, only to regret it a moment later with a grimace at the pain it caused his tender wound.

Junmyeon watched his advisor from across the room, letting out a soft sigh. “For what it is worth,” he started, dropping his gaze to the comforter that covered his bed, picking at a few stray threads in the fabric, “I am sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Yixing was quiet for a moment, before he was pushing himself off of the door. “You must be tired,” he said in lieu of a response to Junmyeon’s apology. “Perhaps it is time to settle in for the night.”

He was used to Yixing avoiding his apologies. Junmyeon was stubborn, yes, but he was not above admitting he was wrong when the situation called for it. With the image of Yixing with a knife held to his throat still fresh in his mind, the sight of the skin of his friend’s cheek already bruising, and the hidden intentions in the leader’s threats, Junmyeon felt extremely guilty. It was he who had insisted they break away from the adults while hunting, and it was with his insistence that they traveled further into the woods, even outside of the Royal Forest. But besides the brief outburst in the forest after their safety was assured, Yixing had remained silent when it came to placing the blame.

Even when Junmyeon deserved it, Yixing rarely acknowledged it. He wasn’t one for apologies, always having said “ _Do not apologize. Fix it_.” If there were a problem, he would rather correct it than discuss whose fault it was, and while there were times when Junmyeon appreciated that quality, he didn’t feel like he deserved such kindness tonight. If anything, Yixing should be just as mad as the king. It was his life that had been threatened, after all. But he did not say a word about it, and Junmyeon didn’t push.

“It will be hard to sleep tonight, with all of the day’s excitement,” Junmyeon commented, before giving Yixing a teasing smile. “Unless, of course, I had a nightingale.”

“Must I sing that song so often?” Yixing asked with an exasperated tone, giving Junmyeon a knowing look that held no real annoyance. “It has hardly been a week since I sang it last. And after the hunting trip, I am not sure I am up to it.”

“But it is my favorite,” Junmyeon responded with a pout, patting the space on the bed next to him.

“You could sing with me, at least,” Yixing pointed out even as he moved to lie beside the prince. Hardly proper etiquette for an advisor, but their relationship had always been unconventional. The two were best friends, so sharing space was not an unfamiliar concept. He saw no reason to start asserting a boundary now, especially when Yixing had told Junmyeon his bed was the softest he had ever laid on. “You have heard it enough times to know the words by heart.”

“And miss out on hearing your voice?” Junmyeon scoffed. “Never.”

Yixing chuckled, but relented as he settled into the mattress. He closed his eyes, letting his mind clear of the stresses of the day, and sang.

“ _The rose, so pure, with petals white_

 _The whitest rose in lunar light…_ ”

And Yixing continued to sing, the lyrics flowing easily and melodically from his mouth like ripples in water, bringing the tale of the rose and the nightingale to life with eloquent words and soft tones.

When he opened his eyes a minute later, once the last word of the song had faded into a gentle hum, he found that Junmyeon had scooted closer, peering up at him with such an awed expression that he found it hard to breathe. But that soon passed, and he rolled his eyes at the other man.

“What?”

“Would you not want that?”

“Want what?” Yixing questioned, watching as Junmyeon smiled.

“A love like that. That is so powerful that nothing will stop you from loving them.”

Yixing shook his head, eyebrows pinched together. “Why would you want such a thing? The nightingale dies.”

“For _love_ ,” Junmyeon added, which earned a grunt of disagreement from the advisor.

“A lot of good _love_ will do, when the bird has bled all over his lover. Love has done nothing but destroyed the nightingale.”

“But the rose’s red color serves as a testimony to their love,” Junmyeon continued, sighing as he leaned back into the many pillows that rested against the headboard. “Is it not important that the nightingale did not care for his own life, as long as he had the rose? His sacrifice was not one that anyone could make. It is truly a wonderful story.”

“It is a tragedy, Your Highness.”

“Junmyeon,” the man corrected with a frown, and Yixing gave in. He was already resting on his bed. There was no point in holding that final boundary between professionalism and friendship.

“ _Junmyeon_ , that type of love… it _is_ powerful. But do you not see the dangers in it? It is not like the knowledge one can obtain from other things, like books and experience. Wisdom is a far better power to have than a love that will get you killed.”

Junmyeon was quiet for a moment, before leaning up to look at Yixing with a raised eyebrow. “You are quite the cynic for a nightingale.”

“And you are quite demanding for a rose, to request my voice so often,” Yixing teased back, ignoring the blush that rose to his cheeks at the pet name Junmyeon had come to call him. With reluctance, he stood from the bed, reaching out to squeeze the other’s shoulder.

“Go to bed, Your Highness. It is late.”

“Why must you insist on calling me that?” the prince whined, though he pushed himself down into the covers without much fuss. “I miss the days of our childhood where you addressed me freely.”

“Advisors do not refer to their prince by name,” Yixing said.

“So I am only your prince?” Junmyeon questioned, and Yixing shook his head with a fond smile.

“No, I suppose not.”

That seemed to appease Junmyeon for the moment, and he gave Yixing a winning smile as he settled down in his bed. “Good night, Yixing.”

“Good night,” Yixing started, turning toward the door and walking out of the chambers. It was not until the door was safely closed behind him that he finished the sentence. “... Junmyeon.”

“So,” a deep voice spoke behind him, and Yixing clutched his chest as he whirled around, spotting Yifan loitering just down the hall, “what are you doing in the prince’s chambers so late at night?”

Yixing righted himself, straightening his shirt with a huff. “Should you not be off nursing that head injury of yours instead of lurking around in the corridors?”

It was a fair question. Yifan had only just regained his ability to walk upright without someone serving as a crutch, having shooed Zitao away once they had arrived at the physician’s quarters, and he still wore the bandages he had been wrapped in. But even if his gaze were still a little distant, the smirk was forever in place, ready to tease the advisor.

“I am hardly lurking,” Yifan responded in a bored tone. “My room is just down the hall. It is you who seems to have gotten lost.” He spared a glance towards the doors behind Yixing, tilting his head slightly in mock contemplation. “Unless, of course, you have good reason to visit the prince at this hour.”

Yixing stiffened at the words and the underlying meaning in them. “Pardon?”

Yifan only grinned, making Yixing flush in embarrassment. “I was just checking in before he goes to sleep,” he muttered sharply in defense. “We only just got free from our fathers, and it has been a very eventful day. I see no reason why I am not allowed to make sure he is alright.”

“By singing?” Yifan asked, and Yixing looked down. “The Rose and the Nightingale is a rather odd choice, yes?”

“Junmyeon adores the song,” Yixing insisted. “I only sing because he asks. That is _all_.”

“I do not mean to offend,” Yifan said as he pushed off the wall, sauntering back towards the guest room he was currently occupying. “In fact, I find it rather endearing. The advisor singing the prince to sleep. Fit for a fairy tale, right, Nightingale?”

Yixing scowled at the young lord’s back, shaking his head. “Perhaps you should retire to bed as well, Yifan. I believe you took a harder blow to the head than I realized.”

Yifan laughed at the words, but shrugged, doing as he was told and disappearing through the doors to his room.

Yixing stayed rooted to his spot for a short while, glaring at the doors Yifan had left through, before he let out a soft sigh. He glanced at the door to Junmyeon’s room, a slight smile finding its way to his lips. Then he turned on his heels and continued down the hall to his own chamber.

The prospect of a good night’s sleep after the day’s events was too tempting to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg’s (much cooler - Nat’s comment: Liar liar Chanyeol set your pants on fire.) Notes: Ah, drama. Don’t we love it? But hey, it’s not a cliffhanger this time! This chapter was fun (if not a headache at some parts), and I hope you all enjoyed the hard work we’ve put into it. And hooray for the introduction of another exo member, and one of the main characters in this story! Though he wasn’t in the story for long, this is only the beginning for our poor “Xiumin”. A little action, a little angst, a little hint of romantic feelings (if you tilt your head to the side...and squint...and really focus). What’s not to love? Thanks again to those who have subscribed, commented, and read! It seriously means the world to us.
> 
> Nat’s (much more important - Meg’s comment: Ha.) Notes: Fun fact: At the time of writing, we have ~40.000 words on this fic, spread over 80+ pages, and we’ve just started writing Chapter 5 (look forward to that one, heh)! As Meg already mentioned, this chapter has been a headache at some parts, but we’ve enjoyed it nonetheless and I hope you did, too! Did you pay attention to the song? It was one of the first things we wrote for this story and worry not, the full song/poem will soon be revealed (the definition of ‘soon’ varies) and we can’t wait for that! We’re very proud of it. In any case, I think that was it for now. Thank you to all you readers for subscribing and commenting! We truly do appreciate it! Comments, in particular (Meg’s comment: *wink*), will be received with so much gratefulness! Tell us what you think, dear readers!
> 
> Remember to look out for connections!  
> Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 3!


	4. Every Hour Counts a Year

After yesterday’s _thrilling_ chain ofevents, Yixing had never felt more glad to be back to the daily routine. It was a comfort, knowing exactly what to expect and when to expect it. He fell in step with his schedule like it was an old friend, taking to the tasks with a renewed sense of appreciation, one of which was to make sure the crown prince didn’t skip his lessons. He had woken a little earlier than necessary, before the sun had started its ascent, but when his mind refused to slip back into his dreams, he had decided to begin his day.

While rousing Junmyeon from his bed was not the easiest part of his job, Yixing had gotten rather good at the chore. Too good, if you asked Junmyeon, who would pout and complain the entire time the sheets were pulled from his grip. But Yixing would not be deterred by large eyes and jutting lips, nor would he be swayed by requests for _just a little while longer_. He was a professional, and he would not let Junmyeon skip out on furthering his studies for a few more moments of shut-eye.

When he let himself into the prince’s chambers, he was certain that Junmyeon would be still asleep, exhausted from the hunting-trip-turned-nightmare and the lengthy lecturing from the king. He was expecting quite the fight that morning, prepared to all but kick the prince out of the bed.

What he got was an eyeful of the lean, toned muscles of Junmyeon’s back, bathed in the early morning light as the sun greeted the day.

It wasn’t like this was the first time Yixing had ever seen the man shirtless. In fact, he could no longer give an exact number of times, having enjoyed swimming with the man in their younger years and sat through more tailoring sessions than he cared to count. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected.

Junmyeon turned as the door clicked closed, looking away from where he had been busy setting out his clothes, and greeted Yixing with a small smile and nod. As if it were normal for Yixing to walk in when he was half-clothed. To his credit, Yixing only allowed his gaze to sweep the smooth planes of Junmyeon’s chest for a moment before dragging his attention back to the man’s eyes.

“You are up early, Your Highness.”

“As are you,” Junmyeon responded. “It seems I am not the only one who could not sleep. And _please,_ Yixing. It is too early for titles.”

It was all Yixing could do to speak, swallowing around the dryness that had settled on his tongue. He was a _professional_ , and this was the heir to the kingdom. He tore his gaze from the man altogether, trying to steady the suddenly rapid beating of his heart, and let his eyes fall to the clothing set out for the day.

He frowned at the sight of the loose, worn shirt. “Junmyeon?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you dressing in sparring attire?”

Junmyeon didn’t seem phased by the question; in fact, he seemed to have expected it. “I spoke with Chanyeol last night, at dinner. We have decided today should be dedicated to extra sparing lessons.”

“Chanyeol is held together by stitches at the moment,” Yixing countered. “It will not be much of a fight.”

“He can still direct from the side,” Junmyeon replied easily, pulling the fabric over his head.

“And who will be your partner? Because _I_ will not -”

A knock at the door interrupted Yixing’s questioning, and both men turned to see Yifan enter.

“I thought you would be in here, trying to avoid our lesson with Kyungsoo,” Yifan said with a slight yawn, propping himself up against the doorframe with his hip as he crossed his arms over his chest. “But I am _not_ going there alone, so, whenever you are ready.”

Yixing watched as Yifan’s eyes fell to Junmyeon’s shirt, a brow rising in question. “Sparring attire?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon answered with a nod. “I have decided our ability to defend ourselves is more important than our history lesson today.”

“Agreed,” Yifan said immediately, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Shall I change?”

“Yes, do that,” the prince nodded, then turned to his frowning advisor, throwing him a bright smile. “There, problem solved. Yifan will be my sparring partner.”

Yixing rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, the one with the concussion. A worthy opponent, indeed.”

“I am not concussed,” Yifan growled in annoyance, shooting the advisor a glare. “And I am as good an opponent as any.”

Yixing laughed at the words. “The purpose of sparring is to get _better_ , Yifan. Not worse. I am worried that you will diminish his skillset.”

“And who should he fight, then?” Yifan snapped back. “You?”

“Actually,” Junmyeon cut in, “that would not be a terrible idea.” He turned toward Yixing with a thoughtful expression, tilting his head as he regarded him. “You would benefit from some lessons as much as the rest of us would.”

The prince was not yet quite over the scare he had gotten when he saw Yixing in the enemy’s hold with a knife to his throat. His chest still ached every time his thoughts strayed to that memory.

“I would rather stick to my books, thank you _very_ much,” Yixing said with a scoff. Junmyeon shook his head at the words, already opening his mouth to protest.

“You cannot trust your books to protect you!”

“They can knock people out just fine, mind you,” Yixing insisted, and Yifan snorted from the doorway.

“Not if it is three against one and they want to kidnap you,” he pointed out. “What good will your books do you then?”

Yixing crossed his arms, wracking his brain for a suitable argument before sighing. “At least I will have something to read while I wait for the ransom to come through.”

“You mean while you wait for someone to come and save you like some damsel in distress,” Yifan teased, smirking as Yixing blanched at the words.

“I highly doubt you want to start this discussion,” Yixing hissed, “or shall I remind you of how Tao throttled you like a little _girl?_ ”

Yifan’s jaw clenched at the reminder of his and Zitao’s match. “One time. That was _one time_.”

“If you two are quite finished,” Junmyeon interrupted, though the smile on his face betrayed his amusement at their bickering, “we must meet Chanyeol soon.”

He tossed a spare shirt towards Yifan, who caught it easily, and Yixing sputtered at being ignored.

“Your Highness, as your advisor, I am telling you that you will go to your history and culture lesson.”

“As your prince -” Junmyeon started, but Yixing had had enough.

“ _Junmyeon_. _You will not skip your studies_.”

“And what are you going to do about it, damsel?” Yifan challenged, cocking an eyebrow in Yixing’s direction as he dangled the shirt in front of the advisor mockingly.

Yifan only had a moment to realize Yixing moved, and he yelped in pain as Yixing gripped his ear sharply between his forefinger and thumb and yanked his head down to his height. A matching cry left Junmyeon when Yixing reached out to grab his earlobe as well, tugging the two men forward and to the door.

“A _damsel_?” the man spat, sneering at the word. “I will show you a damsel.”

“Yixing, let go,” Junmyeon whined, struggling to keep up with his advisor’s pace when his neck was forced into such an awkward angle. For once, he was glad he did not have the height Yifan did, seeing as the man was suffering far worse at the moment.

“You two take us past the boundaries of the hunting grounds, nearly get us killed by bandits, and earn us all a stern lecture from our fathers, and _now_ you want to skip your lesson with Kyungsoo?” Yixing grumbled as he pulled the men down the hall. “I will have you wishing those scoundrels _had_ killed me yesterday when I tell Kyungsoo exactly what you are planning.”

“You _wouldn’t,_ ” Yifan started, earning another harsh yank from Yixing.

“Shall I prove it to you, then?”

“Wait,” Junmyeon pleaded, reaching out to grab Yixing’s wrist. “We should not act in haste. Can we talk about this?”

“Which part do you wish to discuss more thoroughly?” Yixing quipped. “The part where you blatantly disregarded my advice or the part where you are trying to avoid Kyungsoo and the rage I am sure he still holds for that stunt you pulled with his quills?”

“I will discuss whatever you like if you just let go of our ears,” Junmyeon said with a wince.

Yixing brought the group to a stop, seeming to contemplate his options, before releasing the men. Both of the nobles groaned as the blood rushed back to their ears, stepping away from the irked advisor. They were not given a chance to speak as Yixing immediately spoke up.

“You will go to your lesson.”

“But Kyungsoo -”

“Will be even more upset with you if you do not show today. You _will_ go to your lesson. Sparring can wait another day.”

Junmyeon sighed, looking to Yifan for help, but the young lord merely shrugged. It did not seem like they were going to win this one with Yixing, and Junmyeon reluctantly gave in.

“Alright. We will go.”

“Good,” Yixing sniffed. “I am sure you can find your way there. If, for some reason, you do not make it to your lesson, I will not hesitate to let Kyungsoo know of your plans. And your exact location.”

Junmyeon could feel the blood drain from his face, and he gave a stiff nod. “Noted. Come, Yifan. We best not be late.”

The two nobles skidded down the hallway, in a hurry to get to their lesson - and, more importantly, away from the advisor. While Junmyeon was relatively good at getting his way with things around his friend, when Yixing got like _this_ \- striking fear into the hearts of men with sharp glares and sharper grips on the ear - it was best to do as he was told.

When they were well on their way towards the study, Junmyeon allowed himself to relax, the tension leaving his shoulders. But with it came a sigh of disappointment.

“So much for sparring.”

“Well,” Yifan started, still rubbing his ear with a grimace, “as much as I hate to admit it, Yixing is right. Perhaps it is best we give our bodies time to heal.”

“Are you growing soft on me?” Junmyeon joked, nudging the taller man with his elbow.

The young lord huffed, swatting Junmyeon’s arm away. “It takes a healed, rested body to be able to give your all.” He raised a brow and gave the other man a look. “But if your little nightingale has any say in the matter, we will not set foot on the training grounds for a while.”

Junmyeon tensed at the words, eyes widening as he turned to look at his friend. “W-what?”

Yifan smirked at the surprised expression, rolling his eyes. “Oh, do not play dumb with me. As if I did not know of your pet name for him. Though it is a rather interesting choice. The Rose and the Nightingale is a tragic romance, is it not?”

“It is, but -”

“The nightingale loves the rose,” Yifan cut in thoughtfully, winking at Junmyeon teasingly. “Does the rose love the songbird, Junmyeon?”

“How am I to know?” Junmyeon asked in irritation, aware that a blush had crept up into his cheeks. “It is just a song.”

“Ah,” Yifan hummed. “But you called Yixing ‘Nightingale’. Was I mistaken in thinking he called you ‘Rose’?”

Junmyeon’s mouth snapped shut at the words, wondering exactly what Yifan had heard. He was not a fool. When they were children, the names had seemed innocent, drawn through simple connections the two had made with the song. As he grew older and understood the story better, however, he knew the words held a certain implication when used to address another person. But by the time he realized that symbolism, he had been using it for years when referring to Yixing, and he was a little bit too fond of the name to give it up so easily. After all, his and Yixing’s friendship meant the world to him, and the names were only for them to use. Giving them up felt a lot like giving up a bit of their friendship, and to that Junmyeon held tightly.

“We were _children_ ,” he sputtered, willing the flush in his cheeks away. “I started calling Yixing Nightingale because he _sings_ , and in our young minds, it seemed only logical for me to fill the role as the rose.”

Junmyeon’s mind filled momentarily with his family crest, the roses intertwined in the design, and he added, in a last, desperate attempt to convince Yifan that the names were only a private joke and held no ulterior motives, “And my _crest_ is made of roses, so -”

“You are late.”

Junmyeon and Yifan came to a halt at the sight of the man positioned by the door leading to the room in which the lesson was to take place in. Junmyeon was partially glad for the interruption, if only for the distraction it provided from the topic at hand, but he was less happy about the one who interrupted him.

Kyungsoo’s gaze slid over them, stern and unimpressed. “You are late,” he repeated, before adding, like an afterthought, “ _Your Highness_.” He gave Yifan a curt nod. “Lord Yifan.”

Junmyeon smiled slightly at the smaller man, doing his best to keep the terror out of his expression and voice when he said, “We apologize.”

Kyungsoo huffed and opened the door, rewarding them with a levelling look and a raised brow. “Of course. Now, let us not waste more time. Get inside.”

Junmyeon and Yifan shared a look of despair and then Junmyeon sighed, resignation showing in his whole being as his feet brought him into the study room, Yifan following behind and Kyungsoo closing the door after them.

At least Kyungsoo didn’t ask about his quills.

-

_In all of Junmyeon’s nine years of life, he had never heard a voice like Yixing’s._

_The first time Yixing had sung him to sleep, Junmyeon had been sad and crying into his pillow when his friend found him. Nothing especially life-changing, having been scolded by his father when one of his pranks had caused one of the maids to sprain her ankle - marbles would no longer be allowed in the halls - but for a child of his age, it was enough that he could feel the burden of a father’s disappointment._

_He had hidden himself away, but Yixing found him anyway. Being unsure about what to do to comfort his friend, Yixing had simply sat down on the edge of the bed and had begun to hum, gradually growing into a song and Junmyeon’s tears had ceased as he listened to his friend’s gentle voice._

_He had fallen asleep, then, and the next evening, he begged Yixing to sing to him again. It had been with slight embarrassment and much reluctance that Yixing did as he was asked, and after singing a few songs, Junmyeon complimented his voice, taking childish delight in the blush that spread on Yixing’s cheeks._

_Yixing had told Junmyeon a week later, after another song, that he had inherited his voice from his mother - or, at least, that is what his father had told him. Yixing had never met his mother and when he had asked his father about her, he said she just didn’t belong with them. Yixing had not quite understood, so his father tried to explain._

_Yixing had always held a fascination for birds, so when his father said his mother had felt like a bird trapped in a cage, Yixing had, if not completely, then mostly understood. Birds were happiest when they were free, after all, so as long as his mother was happy, he was, too._

_But he still missed her, he confided in Junmyeon._

_It became a routine, with Yixing singing to Junmyeon in the evening before bed._

_Yixing knew so many songs, his voice helping him bring to life stories and legends and myths that always left Junmyeon astounded. However, no other song captured him quite as much as the story of The Rose and the Nightingale._

_The prince grew to crave the sound of that haunting melody filling his chambers. The nightingale’s devotion to the rose, so deep that not even death could scare him, took hold of Junmyeon’s heart and though he was still too young to fathom that kind of love, he understood devotion. He understood caring about someone so much that nothing could take it away. He had seen the way his mother and father interacted, how they seemed stronger together than they did separately, how they looked to one another for reassurance._

_Did he not look towards Yixing for reassurance? His friend was always there, through all of the ups and downs, and he knew Yixing was very important to him. He thought he could take on an army or two if it meant Yixing would be alright. Or at least an angry maid. And Yixing had stopped that one boy from picking on him for his crying face, so he was pretty sure his friend felt the same way. Yixing would always be there to make sure he was okay._

_So of course he had drawn connections._

_“You are my nightingale, Yixing,” Junmyeon said one night, wide eyes staring at the younger boy, who had just finished the song. “Because you sing for me, like the nightingale sang for the rose.”_

_Yixing’s face scrunched up in distaste and he shook his head. “That sounds strange, Jun.”_

_“It does not,” Junmyeon replied. “You_ do _sing for me, when I ask, do you not? It only makes sense.”_

 _“Would it make you the rose?” Yixing continued. “If I am the nightingale who sings for the rose, it means_ you _are the rose.”_

_Junmyeon tilted his head in thought, then nodded. He liked the idea of being a rose, like one of the ones that his mother loved so much in her gardens. “Yes. I am the rose. But only if you are the nightingale.”_

_“But the nightingale dies,” Yixing muttered, still not convinced._

_“Because of the rose’s thorns, yes, but, fortunately, I do not have thorns,” Junmyeon, ever the voice of reason, pointed out._

_“You do not have physical thorns, but all roses have thorns in some way,” Yixing countered, raising an eyebrow at the other._

_Junmyeon’s brows creased as he thought, and then he smiled and said, “Even if I do have thorns, which I do not, I would never use them against you.”_

_Yixing still had a frown on his face, arms crossed over his chest as he contemplated._

_And Junmyeon had never been very patient, nor did he think a frown belonged on his nightingale’s face, so he huffed and said, “But I am_ not _a girl. I am the prince, after all. I am a manly rose.”_

_Yixing gaped at him for a moment, incredulousness written across his face, and then a small giggle burst out of his lips, followed by several more, and Junmyeon felt very accomplished for replacing the frown with laughing eyes and a slight red tint to Yixing’s cheeks._

_“You are my nightingale and I am your rose,” Junmyeon insisted once more and finally Yixing nodded in agreement._

_“Alright, alright, Jun. The nightingale’s rose.” He stopped to consider._

_“My rose.”_

_Junmyeon’s face lit up. “Good! Now, my nightingale, won’t you sing the song again?”_

_An exasperated sigh left Yixing’s mouth. “_ Again _? I sang it no less than five minutes ago.”_

_“Please?” the prince whined. “I want to hear it again.”_

_Yixing pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but made himself comfortable in the bed and nodded. “Alright. One more time and that is it.”_

_He ended up singing it three more times after that, but his protests were halfheartedly at best when Junmyeon continued to smile at him like that._

_And his protests fell on deaf ears anyway._

_-_

Junmyeon was not entirely sure how he managed to get past the castle gates undetected, considering the careful watch he had been under this past week, but he assumed it could be credited to his tendency to run amuck around the grounds. Like just a few minutes ago, when he had found himself squished underneath the low bed frame in one of the spare bedrooms, hardly breathing as the hurried footprints of Baekhyun passed through the room as he searched for the prince, late for yet another fitting. Or when he had slinked along the outside wall, just out of eyesight of the guards, though he could hear Chanyeol’s boisterous laugh over some story Zitao was describing. He had been able to sneak through right before the guard on duty made his rounds along the fence, and he was in the clear once he reached the tree line.

Honestly, they did not give Junmyeon enough credit. The incident with the bandits was an exception, a lapse of judgment after being caught unawares. His battle tactics were superb after years of pranks that resulted in speedy escapes and innovative hiding spots. Chanyeol might even be proud, if those tactics were not currently being used against him and his men.

It didn’t matter _how_ he got there, however, but that he _did_. And now, with the hope that lady luck would continue to favor him, he would find Xiumin.

Junmyeon had been waiting all week to re-enter the forest, knowing he had to wait as to not draw attention to himself. But every day that passed made his chances feel smaller, and by the week’s end he could no longer remain in the castle. He was already going to take more time by going on foot, but he couldn’t risk taking one of the horses. So he had left early, hoping that he would be able to return before he was too badly missed. There was little on his schedule today, besides a morning appointment with the tailor and an afternoon lesson with Yixing. If he moved quickly, he had a chance to make it back for the lesson, at least.

He just wanted to properly thank the man. Xiumin had saved him, after all, as well as the rest of his closest friends. And he was the next ruler to the kingdom, even if the man had not known that. Without him, the Kim family would have been left without an heir. Surely that warranted a reward of some sort.

He hadn’t grabbed much from the kitchen, but it was enough to make a rather decent meal. It was all packed away in a pouch strapped to his back, bouncing slightly with every step he took.

It wasn’t until he reached the outskirts of the Royal Forest that he started to second guess his plan. The furthest he had worked out in his mind was how to get to the forest, but he was suddenly aware of how difficult this was going to be. It wasn’t like Xiumin had to stay in a designated clearing in the woods. Like the shadow he claimed to be, he could move amongst the trees without anything to root him in one place, and it seemed rather childish for Junmyeon to assume he would be lurking around.

But he had made it this far, and he was too stubborn to admit defeat just yet.

So he hiked the bag a little higher on his shoulders and began to walk, following the trail towards the border he and his friends had crossed. While he did not have to be as quiet as he would have been if hunting, he found himself taking careful steps, glancing around at his surroundings frequently. When he was nearing the boundaries of the Royal Forest, he was struck by another thought: If he could find his way back to this part of the woods, so could the bandits.

His hands itched for a bow, the weight on his back far lighter than a quiver would have been. He should have grabbed a weapon, a bow or a dagger or anything he could use to protect himself. He had been so worried about getting through the gates that he had left himself, once again, in a very vulnerable position.

But Xiumin would not enter the Royal Forest. Of that, he was sure. The man seemed far too honorable to go trampling through grounds he had no claim on, and if he weren’t going to come to Junmyeon, then Junmyeon would have to go to him.

With a steeled determination, he pressed on. He’d have to hurry. It was late morning now, and he would be in trouble if he were out in the woods alone at nightfall.

For a while, he looked for any sign of the other man. Footprints, bits of clothing, signs of hunting or settlement, anything that would point to another person being nearby. But after nearly two hours of retracing his steps from the border to the spot where their lives had been threatened, he had lost his patience.

So he went with the next best plan he could think of. Calling out. Loudly.

“Xiumin!” he hollered, and his voiced seemed to startle a crow in a nearby tree, its squawks of protest cutting through the otherwise silent woods. Junmyeon waited for a moment, before trying again.

“Xiumin! It’s Suho!”

He was again met with no answer, and he cupped his mouth as he sucked in another breath.

“Xiu-”

A hand clamped down on his mouth, silencing the cry, and he struggled to break the hold, surprised at the sudden appearance of another. When he managed to wrench the hand from his face, he went to yell, only for a soft voice to cut him off.

“Do you have a death wish, sir? Or do you just lack common sense?”

Junmyeon turned sharply in the man’s grip, sighing in relief when he was met with the sight of a familiar face, half hidden by a green hood. “It is only you. You startled me.”

The other man looked highly unimpressed, releasing the prince from his hold with a shake of his head.

“And who, pray tell, were you expecting, shouting out my name as you gallivanted through the woods?” He gestured towards the trees that surrounded them. “If I hadn’t been close by, who knows whose attention you would have attracted. You’re lucky it is me who found you and not the men from before. Who, may I remind you, nearly _killed_ your company.”

“I was looking to thank you,” Junmyeon said, ignoring the look he received from Xiumin. “I brought food for us to share a meal together.”

Xiumin grunted in frustration, waving the prince off as he turned away. “I told you. I do not want your food. Go home, Suho.”

“It is only one meal,” Junmyeon insisted, following closely behind. “I feel indebted to you. One meal is hardly worth my life, but it better than nothing.”

“I am used to nothing,” Xiumin replied as he kept walking. “And you have no debt to me. I asked you to stay alive on the way back to the city, and it seems you had managed that. Now, return home and leave me be.”

“Please,” the prince continued, his voice soft. “I will not be able to sleep peacefully until you allow me this gesture.” When the man still refused to stop, he added, “I have tarts!”

Xiumin paused, throwing a look over his shoulder at the other. “Do you have apple?”

Sensing that his victory was near, Junmyeon pulled the pouch from his back, holding it out in front of him. “Yes. And lemon and blackberry, as well.”

Xiumin sighed, letting his head drop back as he looked up at the sky in disdain. “I should have let the bandits take you,” he muttered, before begrudgingly nodding. “But I have not had tarts since I was a child. Alright. One meal. And then you get back to your city and forget about me. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Junmyeon chirped, beaming at the other man.

-

Their lunch was much more awkward than Junmyeon had anticipated. Though he had searched for Xiumin specifically for a meal, and had known the man would probably be of a quieter nature, he still had hoped it would have been a little easier to crack the other's shell. Or at least get a decent conversation out of him. Then again, they were still strangers. He should have guessed it would take some time for the shadow to warm up to him.

He had expected for them to have their lunch in the woods, but Xiumin had led him deeper through the trees, down a badly overgrown path that even the most skilled hunters would have trouble finding. All the while, Xiumin seemed to be waiting, glancing over his shoulder at the slightest crack of a branch. Junmyeon couldn't help but let that nervous energy buzz around him as well, knowing there could always be more bandits nearby.

It wasn't until they had come to a small cottage that Xiumin seemed to let his guard down, albeit while still keeping a wary eye on Junmyeon. But even in his caution, he had offered some answers to Junmyeon's questions.

The tarts seemed to help tremendously. Xiumin nearly inhaled the first one he was given, and each one that was consumed seemed to give Junmyeon another bit of information.

He now knew Xiumin lived alone, either by necessity or by choice; Junmyeon would guess the latter. He also knew that the man didn't seem to care much for material possessions. His home was sparse of lavish decorations, leaning more towards practicality than anything else with the simple cot pushed to the far wall, a table and two chairs standing lonely on the other side of the room. A desk sat to the left of the bed, littered with a handful of books and parchment, and small trinkets, and a pot stood readily by the fireplace. Other than a handful of dishes and some clothes that were kept in a trunk by the foot of the bed, not much else was in the one-room house.

But asides from a modest living environment, Xiumin was also very private, to the point where he had mentioned Junmyeon was the first person he has shared a meal with in years. Junmyeon got the impression that the lack of companionship didn't really bother him. Though his face still held that touch of youth, his posture did not, and it made him appear older than he was, to where Junmyeon was surprised to find their ages only differed by a year.

The other chose his words carefully, speaking only what he saw as necessary and leaving out the rest for the prince to fill in. Though Junmyeon knew this man hadn't had the formal education he had, he was wise beyond his years, his mind rich in experience. However, based on the hard glint in his eyes, those experiences were not particularly pleasant ones.

It was the thought of what Xiumin had experienced that followed him all the way back to the castle. Xiumin was a mystery that he desperately wanted to crack, and his mind was swimming with thoughts of battles against thieves and incredible hunting successes. He had promised the other man that he would go to the city and forget about him, and he planned to keep it. Or, at least, half of it. He would go back to the city, but one did not easily forget the man who saved his life, even if that savior were a shadow.

He didn’t want to forget Xiumin. If anything, he wanted to get to know him better. He just needed a way to convince the other that it was a good idea.

But that was for another night. At the moment, he should be more focused on how he was going to sneak back inside the gates. He had been gone longer than he had anticipated, dusk quickly approaching as he neared his home. If they hadn't noticed his absence by now, they were sure to notice soon.

The walls that surrounded the castle were substantial, nearly five meters tall and made of a heavy stone. Rarely did anyone ever make it past them. But for Junmyeon, who had grown up within the walls, they were an easy obstacle. Especially when he knew where all the cracks were, like the one on the eastern side, hidden by a strategically planted tree. It was wide enough for a man twice Junmyeon's size, and he slipped through easily, coming out on the other side.

And right behind a guard.

Junmyeon tensed at the proximity of the other man, who had his back to the prince, still unaware of another person being close by. The guard wasn’t supposed to be making his rounds yet. He must have started earlier than Junmyeon expected. But even if the man weren’t supposed to be there, he was, and Junmyeon had to act fast if he didn’t want to be seen sneaking into the castle. He would have a hard enough time trying to explain where he had been within the gates, let alone try to explain what he was doing outside of them.

He took off in the opposite direction, paying no heed to the tears his clothes suffered when he had to press too close to the wall, frantic to put space between him and the guard as quickly and quietly as possible as he sought out the nearest hideout. The gardens would be ideal, but they were too close to the guard’s route. He’d risk being seen as he slipped in between the bushes. The next best option was the stables, which were thirty paces away. If he were lucky, the place would be deserted, save the horses.

With the stables in his sights, he made his way across the grass, ducking through the wide doors and out of sight of the guard. He threw a look over his shoulder as he slowed to a walk, making sure no one was tailing him, and breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been seen. He was in the clear.

“Well, don’t you look suspicious.”

Junmyeon jumped at the voice, groaning as he noticed Jongdae tending to one of the horses nearby. The stable hand watched the prince with a raised eyebrow and knowing smile as he brushed the mare’s coat. The smile dimmed a little as he looked behind Junmyeon, confusion peeking through the smug expression.

“Are you alone? I thought for sure Yixing would be trailing behind.”

“No, not this time,” Junmyeon admitted, moving further into the stables, still too paranoid to stay near the door. “You saw nothing.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Jongdae teased, patting the horse on the neck. “I saw you sneaking around the Eastern wall.” His eyes slid over the prince’s form, settling on the bag still strapped to his back.

In a flash, the bag was removed from Junmyeon’s shoulder, the stable hand rummaging through the bag that still contained the wrappings from the food Junmyeon had smuggled out. Jongdae frowned at the remains, giving the prince a curious look.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” Junmyeon insisted, moving to get back the bag, but Jongdae was quicker and evaded his advances.

“You’ve been outsides the walls,” he said with an excited grin. “But why?”

“Jongdae, I should be getting back inside,” Junmyeon insisted, but the other shook his head.

“Without telling me?” he complained, another wide grin spreading across his face. “It must be good, then. Good enough that Yixing might like to hear any information I have.”

Junmyeon scoffed at the words. “You are bluffing.”

Before the stable hand could respond, a familiar figure entered the stable on the opposite side. Junmyeon could see the panic in Yixing’s eyes even at the distance, the advisor sweeping the room with his gaze before spotting the two at the other end. The relief washed over his features, before being replaced with annoyance.

“ _There_ you are.”

“Am I?” Jongdae mused softly as the advisor approached, and Junmyeon shot him a sharp look, but couldn’t comment before Yixing was upon him.

“Where have you been?” the other demanded. “I have been looking for you all day. You missed your appointment with Baekhyun, which I understand, but not showing up to my lesson?”

Junmyeon opened his mouth, wracking his brain for a suitable excuse and floundering. “I -”

“He’s been helping me clean the stalls,” Jongdae said, patting the prince on the back a little harder than what Junmyeon thought was necessary. “Part of his punishment for the hunting incident.”

Junmyeon jumped on the opportunity, nodding quickly. “Yes, I have been out here since morning.”

“Without lunch?” the advisor shot back, snorting at the idea. “You are not one to skip meals.”

“We had lunch here,” Jongdae answered, holding up the bag he had stolen from Junmyeon. “We didn’t want to take too much of a break with the amount of work we needed to get done.”

Yixing blinked at the new information, the annoyance slipping into confusion as he looked between the two. “But… I was not aware…”

“It was just established early this morning,” Jongdae continued. “I’ve been having more duties recently, and given the option between helping me out here or helping Kyungsoo with the library, I think Junmyeon made the obvious choice.”

“Well,” Yixing sniffed, straightening his tunic and picking at a stray thread at the hem of his sleeve, “I was not informed of the changes. It seems a shame that Kyungsoo is left out of the deal.”

“Oh, Yifan was given that duty,” Junmyeon assured him, watching as Yixing smirked at the idea of Yifan being ordered around by the smaller history tutor.

“I cannot think of a more suitable punishment for him,” Yixing said with a nod, before sighing. “But as long as you are alright… Next time, let me know of such arrangements. I would rather not look like a fool running through the halls of the castle in my search for you.”

“Worried for me?” Junmyeon teased, earning an eyeroll from the other.

“Yes, yes, though I do not see why I bother. It is not like you would ever lose that stubbornness to spare my feelings.”

“Not likely, no,” Junmyeon agreed. He glanced at Jongdae briefly, before adding, “Let me finish things up here and then I will meet you for dinner.”

“Alright. And then we can go over the lesson you missed,” Yixing said with a pointed look, to which Junmyeon only nodded. “I will see you inside, Your Highness.”

When Yixing had left, Junmyeon sighed. “You lie far too easily, Jongdae.”

“It’s a gift,” Jongdae said with a shrug, smiling in his victory. “But I didn’t rat you out, so now you owe me the truth. Just what _have_ you been doing all day?”

Junmyeon hesitated, wary of telling someone else of his self-imposed mission to find a stranger in the middle of the woods by himself, but figured if anyone could be trusted with the information, it would be Jongdae. The man was just as keen on adventure as he was, and would not be quick to reprimand him for his actions.

“This does not leave the stables,” Junmyeon said firmly, snatching his bag back from Jongdae with little resistance. “No one can know, understood?”

Jongdae scoffed, as if offended that Junmyeon felt the need to clarify that what he was about to say was a secret, but nodded anyway, gesturing for him to continue.

Junmyeon took one last look at the doors Yixing had just passed through before speaking in a low voice. “I went to have a meal with Xiumin.”

“ _Xiumin_?” Jongdae exclaimed, before becoming aware that he had spoken loudly, and lowering his voice again. “Xiumin? As in the hooded stranger in the woods that came to our aid with the bandits? _That_ Xiumin?”

“The very one,” Junmyeon confirmed with a bright smile.

“How did you even find him?” Jongdae said with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “He doesn’t seem like the type to be out in the open.”

“I just… kind of hoped he would be there,” Junmyeon confessed, huffing when Jongdae placed his head in his hand with a heavy sigh. “Alright, so I admit it was not a brilliant idea, but it worked. And what kind of man would I be if I did not try to find him and repay my debt?”

“A smart one,” Jongdae countered, nudging the prince with a smirk. “Though I doubt anyone would ever mistake you for one of those.”

“You think I should have stayed?” Junmyeon questioned.

“I think you shouldn’t have gone _alone_ ,” Jongdae corrected, placing a hand on his chest to indicate himself. “Which is why I’m offering my services as chaperone the next time you wander out to find him.”

“Why you?” Junmyeon asked, and Jongdae raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Would you prefer Yixing?” When Junmyeon shook his head quickly - he could practically hear Yixing berating him for putting himself at risk - Jongdae spread his arms wide with a triumphant smile. “Then, I am the best you’ve got.”

With a sigh, Junmyeon agreed. “Alright. When I go again, I will tell you.”

“Good,” Jongdae said, walking back towards the horse he had been tending to earlier. “So I’ll see you in the morning?”

Junmyeon frowned in confusion. “What for?”

“Your extra punishment, of course,” Jongdae replied innocently, though the smile was anything but. “I usually try to be in the stalls by six. I’ll see you then.”

Junmyeon clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head at the other man as he started off. “If you had not just saved me from a worried advisor, I would remind you that it is impolite to blackmail your elder, especially when I am your prince.”

“Maybe the prince should stay inside the gates, then,” Jongdae called after him, laughing loudly when Junmyeon scowled playfully at him.

He stepped out of the stables and onto the path that led towards the castle, knowing Yixing would be waiting. He doubted he would be far, not when Junmyeon had been out of his sights all day, _and_ missed a lesson. He grimaced at that thought. Yixing would surely try to cram the lesson in before bed, now, when all Junmyeon really wanted to do was relax after walking all day.

“At least it is not history,” he sighed, heading off to what surely would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg’s Note: Why did this one take so long to get through? Ah, time zones and busy schedules. They will be the death of us. Anyways, this chapter is up! We didn’t have too much hard-hitting stuff this chapter, but things is happening now, mostly with Junmyeon proving to be a pretty defiant prince (all for a good cause, of course). We had a lot of fun with the humor in this chapter, so we hope you liked it (especially the Krayho scenes, because those three make our day)! As always, any comments are so, so appreciated ^^
> 
> Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: If you think it’s all lovely now, just wait for Chapter 5. And every chapter after that. There will be angst. (Meg’s comment: You just aren’t ready yet) Do not be fooled by Krayho. Anyway-! Time zones and busy schedules are such boring stuff. And will be the bane of us, yes. Sigh. However, hope you liked this chapter! Very simple, really, not too much, but eh. Every fic needs the calm before the storm, don’t you agree? Also, we left clues. Foreshadowing. Find them! Likewise with connections and all that good stuff. It’s eeeverywhere <33 Eh, yes, thanks for reading! We’d really, really appreciate some comments. Let us know what you think! Thanks <3
> 
> P.S. When you think of Yixing laughing, think of this lovely link:  
> http://jjongslays.tumblr.com/post/110046047108/dimplay-hes-just-a-piece-of-pie-a-cute 
> 
> Lovely readers, see you for Chapter 4!


	5. Of Time Gone By and Death Brought Near

Yixing was not sure how Junmyeon had convinced him to do this. Then again, when the prince had his mind set on something, there was rarely anything Yixing could do but hold on and hope for the best.

But _this_ seemed extremely unnecessary, even for Junmyeon.

“Tell me, again, why I am being dragged into this?” he questioned, glancing between Yifan and Junmyeon as he followed behind them, heading straight towards the training grounds.

“Because sparring would do you some good,” Junmyeon said cheerfully. “There is no reason that you should stand by idly when you could be learning how to defend yourself better.”

On the contrary, Yixing could think of several reasons why he should be excused. For one, the weather. It was only the end of October, but the year had been unusually cold, the ground already covered in frost from the low temperatures of the night. The cloud of steam his breath produced in the morning air was enough for him to wish he were back inside. They had an indoor practice room that would be warmer, but when he had pointed that out, he had been reminded that, as a rule, they only used it when it was snowing, and even then it was Chanyeol’s call. The sadist still had them continue outside, more often than not, despite the miserable weather. Prepare for every situation, he would defend, even as his men shook from the chill.

And another reason would be Yifan accompanying them. The young lord was set to depart soon, and had been itching for some sparring ever since his extra punishment with Kyungsoo had taken effect. Yixing had seen the man muttering to Junmyeon about it after spending hours in the library, a permanent scowl etched into his features, but he was all smiles today, despite his approaching leave. His father’s business in the court would be wrapped up within the week, but not before he would get the opportunity to mock the advisor in his attempts to fight.

He wasn’t _terrible_ , per se. An average fighter. And much like archery, he could break it down into specifics and technically sound movements. But the tactical part of his skill left much to be desired when facing an actual opponent. A nervous fighter, Junmyeon had commented once.

And Yifan took full advantage of that.

He had been relentless in his teasing as they had walked, to the point where, if Yixing were any less of a man, he would have kicked him behind the knees and watched the giant tumble down to the frozen earth below. But Yixing was above such underhanded tactics. At least for the moment.

“Trust us, Yixing,” Yifan called over his shoulder. “The bandits would not have taken your lack of fighting skill as an excuse not to sell you off.”

“I doubt they would have been picky in who they sold, either way,” Yixing muttered. “After all, they were going to sell you, and I do not picture you bringing in much of a profit.”

“Please,” Yifan huffed, “I am certain I am worth quite a bit.”

“I wonder how much we would have sold for,” Junmyeon interjected, biting his lip in thought. “Surely a great deal.”

Yixing snorted, shaking his head. “Even if you are rather expensive, they would quickly tire of your stubbornness and bring you back. I am not too worried.”

“And you believe you are any less stubborn than us?” Yifan questioned, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“Ah, but I have an edge over you, at least,” Yixing insisted.

“Oh? And what edge is that?”

The advisor gave him a wicked smirk before leaning over to pat the taller man’s cheek. “My charm.”

Yifan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And what a charm it is.”

“If that is the case, Yixing,” Junmyeon cut in, seeing his opportunity, “then you definitely need more sparring. We cannot let that charm be your downfall.”

When Yixing groaned, Yifan jumped back in with his teasing.

“Think of it as field experience, yes? A chance to apply all of that knowledge you have hoarded from your precious books.”

“And I have warned Chanyeol and Zitao that you are still a beginner,” Junmyeon added, thinking the information would be helpful. But Yixing saw the gleam in Yifan’s eyes at the words, and he was starting to question just whose side Junmyeon was on.

“Yes, we cannot hurt the young bird before he has been pushed out of the nest,” Yifan mused, just quiet enough for Yixing to hear, and the advisor glared at the words but said nothing. He’d rather not let Junmyeon know that Yifan had caught on to the nicknames.

“Tell me,” Yixing started with a growl in his voice. “Do we get to use real swords this time?”

“Now, Yixing,” Junmyeon chided, even if his smile betrayed him. “We do not wish to harm one another today.”

“Not permanently, no,” Yixing muttered, and Junmyeon laughed, reaching over to give him a comforting pat on the back.

“You will be sparring with me and Chanyeol, and Yifan with Zitao,” Junmyeon said happily, and Yifan squawked at the words, suddenly not finding the situation as amusing as it was just moments ago.

“Why -” Yifan squeaked out, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Why Zitao?”

“Is that a problem?” Yixing asked, his smirk sliding back into place. Maybe this day could be salvaged.

Yifan shook his head fiercely, looking away with a muttered curse. “No, not at all. I just… It seems like someone else could benefit from having him as a partner.”

“And rob you of the opportunity to redeem yourself?” Yixing said with mock-disbelief. “Why, Yifan, we would not dream of it.”

Before the taller man could retaliate, the training grounds came into view, and Junmyeon hurried them along at the sight of the others already gathered and waiting.

As the three men stretched, Zitao began to distribute the practice equipment and Chanyeol began to rattle off the rules for the day. They all knew them well, but it was one of Chanyeol’s self-imposed duties that no one was allowed to spar without clear rules set beforehand. So they humored him, nodding along with the tips he also provided.

“And be sure to look for any weaknesses in your opponent’s defense,” Chanyeol reminded. “Some adversaries will seem more formidable than others, but they all have a weakness.”

“Like Yifan’s ego,” Yixing whispered playfully, grinning as Junmyeon stifled a laugh with his hand.

“Or Yixing’s neck,” the young lord countered threateningly, and before Yixing could react, Yifan had closed the distance between them and blew cold air against the skin below his jaw.

The advisor screamed at the assault, his legs buckling underneath him involuntarily as he fell to his knees. Clutching the side of his neck, he stared up at Yifan with wide eyes, watching as the man nearly doubled over in his laughter. Embarrassed, he picked himself up quickly, shooting a timid look at the others.

“H-how…” he started, still aware that the skin under his hand was tingling with sensitivity. “How did you -”

He cut himself off mid-sentence, because there was only one person who knew of how he was defenseless against such things, and he turned his attention to Junmyeon. The prince, having noticed Yixing’s gaze on him, immediately ducked behind Chanyeol, and Yixing nearly growled.

“ _Traitor!_ ”

“I did not intentionally give him that information,” Junmyeon protested weakly. “It was an accident, I swear it.”

“No, me throttling you will be _an accident,_ ” Yixing countered, lunging towards the other, only for Zitao to grab him around the waist and pull him back.

“Save that energy for the lesson,” Zitao said gently, though his smile was riddled with silent laughter.

“I am more concerned with how Junmyeon would have known such a thing in the first place,” Yifan leered, and both prince and advisor flushed a bright red.

“We have known one another since we were children,” Yixing argued, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “Of course he knows.”

“Have you forgotten I shared my childhood with the two of you, as well?” Yifan said with a wide smirk.

“You were only here occasionally,” Yixing argued. “And as you can imagine, it is not information that I readily give out.”

Junmyeon nodded frantically at the words, his voice coming out a little steadier than his advisor’s. “I discovered it through innocent circumstances, I assure you.”

And it was. He had discovered Yixing’s sensitivity at a young age, when he had been partial to sneaking up on his friend. It was a game to him, to see how close he could get before Yixing noticed. His record was the time he had managed to get close enough to breathe down his neck, and, well, he hadn’t been aware of the consequences of that action until he had actually tried it.

They had agreed to never speak of it to anyone else, though it seemed Junmyeon had wavered on his end.

“Innocent,” Yifan teased, satisfied with the situation he had created. “Of course.”

“Well,” Chanyeol’s voice cut in, amused. “As entertaining as this is, we really should begin our lesson.” He raised an eyebrow as he threw a smirk towards Yixing, who immediately lowered his hand from his neck. “Maybe this extra sparring can ensure the opponent never gets close enough to use such a deadly technique.”

Yixing shot Junmyeon one last glare before shrugging out of Zitao’s grip, moving away to grab his designated practice sword. Oh, how he wished it were steel at the moment.

The group broke off into the pairings, Yixing joining in with Chanyeol and Junmyeon as Yifan reluctantly joined Zitao.

The trouble started early. Perhaps he had been shaken by the attack on his neck, but Yixing found he performed even less efficiently than usual. Even with Chanyeol - who was probably the most skilled instructor they had, despite his young age - and Junmyeon to help him, he struggled. His footwork was sloppy, his blocks were delayed, and he had nearly dropped his sword three times.

“Your grip is too weak,” Junmyeon had commented after Chanyeol had called for a break. “The opponent is going to rip it from your hands if you hold your sword like that.”

“I am holding it the same way you are,” Yixing muttered defensively, even as he glanced down at his hands. They were correct, right? His right hand underneath the guard, his left on the pommel. It was how the others fought, but their swords had not left their hands, and it frustrated Yixing to no end.

Junmyeon set his sword on the ground and walked towards Yixing, reaching out to cover his left hand. Yixing winched at the touch, realizing that the pommel was digging into his palm. Junmyeon took the hand away from the sword, turning it palm up and examining it closely.

“Is it uncomfortable?” he questioned, raising his eyes to look at Yixing. The advisor hesitated before nodding, and the prince hummed in acknowledgment. “Holding the sword varies from fighter to fighter. If your left hand is uncomfortable holding the pommel…”

He guided Yixing’s hand higher from the bottom of the sword, positioning it just underneath his right hand before finishing his thought, “... you can hold it here, in a more basic grip.”

Junmyeon’s fingers pushed Yixing’s to curl around the base, before letting go and taking a step back. He eyed Yixing for another moment, before nodding. “Better?”

“Better,” Yixing admitted, flexing his fingers around the base **,** trying to ignore the heat that lingered on his skin from Junmyeon’s touch.

“Now your stance,” Junmyeon started, pulling Yixing’s arms down to where he held the sword in front of him, in a defensive position. Junmyeon moved around him, correcting his posture in places.

“Straighter back,” he said as he placed a guiding hand on Yixing’s lower back and pushed inward slightly. He nudged at Yixing foot with his toe. “And move that right foot forward slightly.”

Yixing grumbled at being prodded, but did as he was instructed. He could feel his balance shifting, making him more stable and grounded, and he sighed. These were the basic foundations of swordsmanship, and he had learned this already, but it appeared to have not stuck. Then again, not much else could occupy his mind when Junmyeon’s fingers kept pushing into his skin, moving him this way and that.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he lowered his sword in accepted defeat. “I am just not meant to be a fighter, Your Highness,” he said quietly.

Junmyeon tapped his hip, moving him until his body was in a more open stance. “You just need practice,” he assured the man, running a hand underneath his forearm to hoist the sword back up with a small smile. He gestured towards Yixing with a open hand. “See? Now you look like a fighter.”

Yixing went to reply, but was interrupted by another voice coming from the opposite side of the field.

“So here is where you are hiding!”

The two looked up to see Byun Baekhyun, the royal tailor, marching across the field quickly. The tailor was of a short stature, but carried himself with an air of confidence that, in part, came from years of expertise in his work, while the vast majority of that confidence was just in his personality. The brunet was usually quick to smile, but at the moment, that smile was nowhere to be found.

“I am hardly hiding,” Junmyeon said with a light laugh, extending his arms to the side as if to show how visible he was. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Baekhyun thrust the bundle of clothes into Junmyeon’s face with a huff, placing an impatient hand on his hip. “What have you been doing to my craftsmanship?”

Junmyeon examined the clothes carefully, his fingers tracing the tears in the fabric before giving the tailor a sheepish smile. “I thought you were skilled enough to fix it?” he asked, avoiding the question in favor of another.

“I am,” Baekhyun sniffed, “but that doesn’t mean I appreciate the extra work, _Your Highness_.”

Yixing had long ago accepted that he was the only one who referred to Junmyeon with the correct title, and meant it. Baekhyun had taken to using it in sarcasm more than an actual show of respect, though he admitted it suited the man’s loud personality. It was something he had needed to get used to, but now seemed a part of the tailor’s charm, and most of the other workers in the castle agreed.

Highest on the list of Baekhyun’s admirers was Chanyeol, who had been smitten with the man from the start. The captain had seen Baekhyun approaching, and he bounced over to the three men.

“Baekhyun,” he greeted with a broad grin. He immediately reached out for Baekhyun, setting a hand on the man’s arm, and the tailor slapped it away.

“Not now, Channie. I’m working.”

The captain pouted slightly, and Yixing would have laughed, had he not been curious as to how Junmyeon’s clothes had gotten so damaged. The largest tear was clear through the sleeve, about the span of his palm, and the shirt held an abundance of smaller nicks and cuts. Yixing could not think of a time where such destruction could have happened.

“When did you tear your shirt?” he questioned, drawing Junmyeon’s attention back to him.

“Oh,” Junmyeon started, giving a small laugh. “It must have happened when I was working in the stables.”

There was something there in the words that didn’t sit quite right with Yixing, but before he could comment on it, Junmyeon was speaking again. “Go join Yifan and Tao for the next round, and I will join you again after I discuss my lack of caution with Baekhyun.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, really, but a suggestion posed as one. And while Yixing knew Junmyeon had tried to cover it with a joke, it still rang clear. But Yixing only smiled, giving a half-hearted protest to being forced to deal with Yifan - had Chanyeol not been too distracted by Baekhyun to be much of a partner, he would have put up a larger fight - before turning to join the other pair.

“And so you have come for some real opponents,” Yifan said good-naturedly, wiping the sweat from his brow as Yixing approached. It seemed he was holding his own with Zitao, though Yixing would bet the guard was going easy on him this time around.

“I figured Tao would be a challenge, yes,” Yixing teased. “You, on the other hand, not so much.”

Yifan rolled his eyes at the words, readying his stance. “Well, come on, then. Let us see those skills you have learned from your books.”

Yixing settled into his stance, trying to recall where Junmyeon had positioned him. He held his sword in front of him with the new grip, already feeling more confident in the hold, and watched as Zitao moved away, intending to instruct from the side.

Yifan, ever eager to demonstrate his strength, started the match off. He closed the distance between Yixing and himself, forcing the advisor to fall back into guard, blocking the blows with shaky motions.

“Keep your shoulder up,” Zitao encouraged, and Yixing made the adjustment quickly, trying to put space between the two of them. But Yifan was relentless, one blow after another, and Yixing’s chest heaved with the effort of dodging.

“You seem tired,” Yifan taunted, finally letting up on his advance. Yixing was just happy to have kept a hold of his sword. Yifan’s swings were much stronger than Junmyeon’s.

“We have been out here all morning,” Yixing countered, rolling his shoulders that ached from holding the man back. “Of course I am tired.”

“Really?” Zitao cut in, and Yixing should have known from the tone of his voice that this would not end well. “The way Yifan describes it, I’d have assumed you were tired from staying with the prince late into the night.”

Yixing openly gaped at the guard, who thrust his chin back towards Yifan. “I am not your opponent, Yixing. A distracted man is a defeated man.”

Yixing’s eyes slid over to where Junmyeon stood with Baekhyun and Chanyeol, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he noted they were too far to hear the conversation.

“Jun is not your opponent either,” Yifan taunted. “At least not at the moment.”

The advisor shook his head before shooting a glare at Yifan, whose laugh was beginning to grate on his nerves. “You should not believe everything this fool tells you, Tao. I do not stay with the prince.”

“I would not have taken you as one to leave before morning,” Yifan replied, and Yixing swung his sword erratically at him.

“I _sing_ to him. That is all.”

“A lullaby,” Zitao cooed, walking around the pair to observe their techniques, even as he played along with Yifan’s teasing. He was spending too much time with the young lord, it seemed. “How cute.”

“You exhausted him to the point of sleep, did you?” Yifan said with a wicked grin. “Has your job description been changed from advisor to kept man so quickly?”

Yifan cackled as he dodged another swing, this time aimed at his neck. It was hardly correct technique, but proper form be damned, Yixing was more concerned with shutting him up.

“It is only a song, you bastards, and I sing because he asks me to.”

“Focus,” Zitao chimed in. “Your left side is open.”

Yixing composed himself as Yifan advanced again, grunting under the weight of his sword’s swing.

“It is not _only_ a song,” Yifan insisted, blocking one of Yixing’s counterattacks. “It is _The Rose and the Nightingale._ A _love_ song.”

“A _tragedy_ ,” Yixing corrected through clenched teeth. “With blood and death.”

Yifan locked his blade with Yixing, raising an eyebrow at the advisor as Zitao called to Yixing from the sidelines, encouraging him to push against the taller man. But the young lord was like a wall, and it was all Yixing could do to not be taken off his feet completely, digging his heels into the ground below. Yifan kept pushing him back even as he kept their swords connected, until Yixing could feel the edge of the sparring grounds behind him, grass starting to replace the sand of the training field.

“Really, now?” Yifan said in a low voice as Yixing struggled to separate himself from the other. “I did not realize you were into blood play, Yixing.”

Being honorable in a fight was overrated, anyway.

Before Yifan could react, Yixing hooked his leg around his calf and tugged forward. Yifan, it seemed, had forgotten Zitao’s warning of watching his momentum, for he could not stop himself from tumbling forward. For a brief, glorious moment, Yixing felt accomplished at the look of surprise in Yifan’s face. Unfortunately, Yixing had not thought past putting Yifan on the ground, and was unable to move out of the way fast enough.

In a tangle of limbs and wooden swords, the men collapsed on the grass, Yixing pinned beneath Yifan in the process. The weight of the other man pushed the air from his lungs, and he wheezed as he tried to get free.

“ _Get off!_ ” Yixing exclaimed, pushing at the man’s chest in outrage.

To his credit, Yifan seemed to agree with the advisor for once and scrambled to his feet. He sneered at Zitao, who was howling with laughter at the scene, before offering a hand to Yixing to help him up.

Yixing huffed at the offer, because he could get up by himself _thank you very much_ , but by then the frost that still clung to the grass had seeped into his pants and left him unbearably cold. Reluctantly, he took a hold of Yifan’s extended hand, letting the man haul him up out of the grass.

“Is that a draw, then?” Zitao called, still shaking with his laughter, and both men glared at him.

Wiping the sand and grass from his shirt, Yixing’s fingers slid down the fabric, only for him to find skin where material was meant to be. Glancing down, he noticed a tear in his shirt, the edges of the cloth frayed. He groaned at the sight of it, cursing at Yifan before pushing the taller man in the shoulder.

“You ripped my shirt,” he complained, pulling it away from his body to get a better look. It was at least a hand’s width in length, and the chill of the air around them had goosebumps rising across his ribs.

“You were the one who tripped me,” Yifan accused, rolling his eyes. “And it is not like it cannot be mended. I am sure Baekhyun…”

He trailed off, his gaze sliding across the yard to settle on the other three, and he smiled. “I am sure Baekhyun could help you with that.”

Hands suddenly yanked at the fabric, and Yixing yelped as the garment was tugged over his head, leaving him exposed to the elements. He quickly covered his chest, blushing violently as Yifan made a show of examining the cut on his shirt more closely.

“Shall we give him the shirt now?” Yifan questioned with a wink, before sprinting across the field.

“Yifan, get back here this instant!” the advisor roared, following after as quickly as he could.

They must have made quite the scene, Yixing shirtless and trailing behind a grinning Yifan, while Zitao laughed himself into a coughing fit behind them, for the other three looked up as they made their approach.

Yixing faltered in his steps as he met Junmyeon’s gaze, watching the prince’s eye widen in surprise before raking down his front. Yixing knew he was flushed, though he hoped it could be passable as exertion from the sparring, and his body was reacting as any would in the cold, tensing at the chill. He could feel every muscle pulled tight as he ran, and he swallowed thickly when Junmyeon’s attention snapped back up to his face. He pushed himself a little further, trying to close the distance between him and Yifan, who was skidding to a halt in front of the tailor, shirt clenched tightly in his hands.

The young lord was halfway through explaining the urgency of fixing such an unfortunate tear in Yixing’s shirt when the advisor finally reached him. He lunched at the other man, catching him around the neck and yanking him down into a headlock. Yifan cried out in surprise at the action, but laughed all the same as he tried to pry himself free from Yixing’s hold. He was easily stronger, but with how Yixing had pulled him down to the level of his hip, his leverage was compromised. At Yifan’s chuckled protests, Yixing tightened his hold, satisfied when the other could not break free.

“Give me my shirt.”

“And allow you to wear it when it is clearly torn?” Yifan continued, his voice breathy from their run. “Why, that will not do.”

“ _Give me my shirt,_ ” Yixing growled, making his intentions clear. He would hold Yifan by the neck until he got what he wanted.

Yifan sighed dramatically, but gave in, tapping Yixing’s hip as he held out the desired garment. “Alright, alright. Let me up.”

Yixing snatched the shirt from his grasp before releasing the man, tugging the shirt on as Yifan chuckled at the blush that had risen on Yixing’s skin. Baekhyun sighed at the sight of the tear, but promised to look at it later. After the display he had just put on, he doubted any of them would have tried to take it from him again.

“Forget swordsmanship,” Chanyeol laughed, gaining Yixing’s attention as the shirt was pulled firmly over his torso. “You should be practicing hand-to-hand combat to sharpen those skills. That was impressive.”

“All he needed was a little anger,” Yifan chimed in, and Yixing nearly snarled at him.

“I doubt I could ever find an opponent as infuriating as you.”

“Maybe not,” Zitao mused as he joined the group, nudging the advisor. “But if you do, you shall win for sure.”

Junmyeon seemed to have lost his words for a moment, observing Yixing with an unreadable expression. When Yifan cleared his throat, he shook his head with a blush, smiling at his advisor cheerfully.

“You will be a fighter, yet,” he said softly, and Baekhyun huffed at the words, rolling his eyes.

“Right, well, when you get done with that shirt, Yixing, drop it off. I’ll fix it after I get done with Jun’s poor, unappreciated garments,” the tailor piped up, frowning between the two shirts he would now have to mend.

He reached out to hit Yifan lightly in the arm. “And you. Stop tearing others’ shirts. I have enough work as it is.” He sighed, glancing forlornly at the castle. “Which is waiting. I bid you farewell.”

“Already?” Chanyeol asked, and the entire group groaned at the words, teasing the other man until the tailor had left. Though with how Baekhyun smiled at the captain as he went back to work, it seemed he had enjoyed the attention.

“Alright, Yifan,” Junmyeon said, flashing the young lord a smile as he walked back towards the sand field. “If you are not too tired from Yixing’s beating, I would like to try my hand now.”

“You are going to regret that,” Yifan called with a laugh, following after him and leaving the guards and Yixing to trail behind. The advisor smirked at their antics, shaking his head.

Perhaps Zitao would let him officiate this round. He needed a break.

-

Since Junmyeon’s last trip to the market a couple of months ago, nothing had changed significantly. It was as busy as any other day would have been, with crowds of people weaving around one another, bustling through the streets, voices carrying through the air, children’s laughter as they ran in and out between the masses and merchants trying to lure potential buyers closer with promises of good bargains. The smells were the same, some tempting and making one’s mouth water, others less pleasing. The weather was favorable, even with the chill lingering in the air, and it seemed everyone had wished to enjoy it while strolling through the square.

It had taken some convincing on his side for his parents to let him go, and that was with the added stipulation of two guards by his side. Junmyeon still did not see the importance of being flanked by his guards, but, nevertheless, he agreed and sent word for Chanyeol and Zitao.

After his lessons for the day had ended, he had changed his clothes to something more fitting for a trip to the market, and then he had left. Yixing had insisted on accompanying him, stating that he needed more ink for his quills and new books for his mind. He had been in a better mood lately, with Yifan’s departure, if only because he could pour over his books in peace without the young lord trying to provoke him into a rematch. Junmyeon had only shaken his head fondly and nudged the younger.

“Has the Royal Library run out of material for you, already?” he had teased.

“The market might have books our library does not,” his advisor had countered, earning a laugh from the prince.

“You are insatiable.”

And so, Junmyeon found himself amongst the subjects with Yixing and his two guards by his side. Chanyeol and Zitao were on high alert, keeping a close eye on the surrounding people, although Junmyeon highly doubted anyone would make a move on his life in such a crowded environment. People did not attack nobles in busy streets - they only attacked in distant woods, apparently. Yixing’s attention was partially on the vendors, partially on Junmyeon, because he had nothing but bad experience with letting the prince out of his sight.

The people’s happiness with the crown was evident in the way they greeted Junmyeon with swift bows and bright smiles. They made way for the small group, letting them pass without any trouble. Junmyeon answered the people’s smiles with his own cheerful ones, giving a few nods in return.

He took great delight in the people’s happiness and the feeling of freedom whenever he went on these trips to the market. However, unlike many previous trips, he had a purpose with this one.

When he visited Xiumin the next time - for _of course_ he did not plan on staying away as the man had requested - he wanted to bring him something, a small token of appreciation for saving his and his friends’ lives. He had brought tarts last time, but he didn’t quite feel that sufficed. Life could not be measured in food or other material things, and no matter what he gave Xiumin, it would never be enough.

Still, he wanted to give him _something_. He just didn’t know what, hence, he had asked Jongdae, the only one who knew about him sneaking off to see Xiumin.

Jongdae had hinted at the cold weather, the soon-approaching winter, and had said that Xiumin might appreciate some warmer clothes or flint for the fireplace. Junmyeon had agreed and so he was now heading towards Lu Han’s, knowing the man sold hunting and travel supplies. He reckoned he would be able to find something for Xiumin there.

“Where are we heading, Your Highness?” Yixing asked, noticing how Junmyeon seemed to be heading towards a specific destination, as opposed to how he usually enjoyed walking around and looking at everything the market had to offer.

“Lu Han,” Junmyeon answered, waving the other’s question off nonchalantly. “Jongdae told me to get him something from Lu Han’s shop.”

His advisor lifted a brow, throwing Junmyeon a long look. “Jongdae? What does he need from the market that he cannot get himself?”

Junmyeon gave a light laugh and looked at Yixing. “Why so curious?”

Yixing directed his eyes forward, shaking his head. “You have been spending an awful lot of time with Jongdae as of late, have you not?”

Junmyeon hadn’t noticed how much time he had spent in the stables in the recent weeks, under the ruse of punishment, but he and Jongdae had gotten closer. Besides the fact that he could openly speak of Xiumin to the other, Jongdae was a warm individual, and good company to have. But thinking back now, he realized Yixing was not used to him spending so much time with the stable hand. Or anyone else, for that matter. Junmyeon’s free time was traditionally spent with Yixing, until recently.

“It is amazing how a near death experience can spark a closer bond,” Junmyeon said, sounding amused. “I have also been spending more time with Chanyeol and Tao, yet I do not see you complaining about those extra lessons.”

“The lessons benefit you,” the advisor pointed out. “Jongdae’s company is more leisure than an attempt to harness your skills. Punishment or not, you have been there more.”

Junmyeon pondered his words for a short moment, and then he grinned. “Why, Yixing, if I did not know better, I would say you sound envious of Jongdae.”

Yixing stopped walking for a second, blinking. He opened his mouth to deny it, but not a sound came from his lips and he was horrified to find himself flushing in embarrassment.

“Honestly, Yixing,” Chanyeol said behind him, patting his shoulder as he stepped around the other, “there’s no need to stop walking. It’s not like we don’t know your reluctance to share Jun’s attention.”

Yixing sputtered and shook his head, quickly catching up to Junmyeon again. “I am _not_ jealous. I was merely pointing out an observation,” he insisted. “He is allowed to have as many friends as he wishes.”

“So long as they do not steal him away for long,” Chanyeol teased, and Yixing looked away from the group with a scoff.

“If it’s any consolation, your protectiveness is an excellent quality to have as an advisor,” Zitao chimed in light-heartedly. “You know what’s best, after all. Like a mother hen with her chick.”

Junmyeon laughed at the scowl that crossed his best friend’s face, nudging the man’s shoulder with his own. “It is why you are the only advisor I would ever need. You are my best friend.” He lowered his voice then, his words quiet and meant only for Yixing’s ears, drowned out to the rest of the world by their company. “And if there is anyone I would trust my life with, it is the nightingale.”

Yixing’s frown softened at that, and he gave Junmyeon a small smile. “It is what nightingales do, Your Highness. Protect the rose.”

The prince gave him another bright smile before snapping back to the present, eyes scanning the stalls surrounding them. “If you want your books, you should go ahead. Come find us at Lu Han’s when you are ready to return home.”

Yixing hesitated only briefly, before giving a quick nod. “I will be there shortly.”

With a nod towards the guards, Yixing ducked through the crowd, heading off in his search for more reading material. Junmyeon watched him go with a fond smile, before the weight of Chanyeol’s arm settled around his shoulders.

“Fear not, Junmyeon. He will return.”

“As if I have any doubts,” Junmyeon quipped, shoving the guard’s arm off as Zitao appeared on the other side. He sighed at the sight, a slight pout crossing his face. “Must you stand on either side of me? You giants always leave me looking shorter than I am.”

“It is not our fault that you are smaller,” Chanyeol insisted, and Junmyeon wondered if he were paranoid, or if the captain moved closer to him at the comment. “And your protection is more important than your appearance.”

“Perhaps it makes us look more intimidating, and will discourage potential attackers,” Zitao added, though the smirk he shared with Chanyeol made Junmyeon doubt that.

He would have put up more of a fight, had he not felt the urge to continue on his way to Lu Han’s. He needed to be quick in his purchase, lest Yixing start to question why a stable hand would need a flint.

This would not be the first time Junmyeon had gone to Lu Han for an odd request, though a flint was probably the most practical item he had asked for in a while. Lu Han’s shop was known to have a large variety of supplies for any type of traveler or huntsman, as well as some interesting trinkets from the far-lying districts of the kingdom. When he didn’t have a certain item in mind, he would still find the man’s shop, fascinated by the objects for sale, as well as by the man.

He had met Lu Han when he was just a teenager, before he was technically allowed to leave the castle gates. He had snuck out a week after his fourteenth birthday, intending to explore the city that lay before him for an hour, maybe two at the most. But then he had found himself at the shop owned by Lu Han’s father, and had been intrigued by the doe-eyed boy whose skin looked like porcelain.

The young prince had been startled to find the boy was actually older than him, though that surprise had quickly been forgotten in the discovery of a new friend. He had returned to the castle with the promise of coming back to play, and he had made good on his word, visiting Lu Han multiple times throughout the years and even more frequently when he no longer had to sneak around. Though they hardly played in the streets like they had as teenagers, they still enjoyed one another’s company, usually lost in conversation as Junmyeon browsed.

The stall came into view, and even with the distance, Junmyeon could see Lu Han was not alone. That was not an unusual thing for the shop. It was well-known for high quality items, and many people would regularly purchase their supplies from Lu Han and his father.

But this particular customer was not there for supplies, but for Lu Han.

“Sehun!” the prince called out as they neared, pulling the man in question from his conversation.

Sehun was one of the newest additions to the castle staff, working as an errand boy for Baekhyun for a little over a year now. His age had surprised Junmyeon as well, though this time because he looked much more mature than his years. He had only turned nineteen this past spring, and was the youngest in the staff, much to the amusement of Baekhyun, who had taken to referring to him as a child. Sehun’s revenge was taken in his reluctance to do just about anything the tailor asked of him, except for the occasional run to the market for a specific fabric or tool. The younger man would take just about any excuse to linger at Lu Han’s stall, even if it meant listening to Baekhyun’s orders.

Sehun straightened to his full height as the three approached, much to the dismay of Junmyeon. Yet another giant of a friend. “Hello, Junmyeon,” he greeted quietly, smiling towards the prince with a nod. The prince’s title had not stuck with the errand boy, either, though Junmyeon didn’t mind.

“I see Baekhyun has you on another fabric errand,” Junmyeon noted, a hand waving towards the rolled material tucked underneath his arm, the gold coloring catching his eye immediately. The words earned a dramatic eye roll from the younger man.

“Spider silk,” Sehun muttered, scrunching his nose in annoyance. “He wanted _spider silk_. He knows how difficult it is to get such a thing this time of year, at least in the quantity he needs. I’m lucky Lu Han had the fabric by chance. All of the other fabric dealers _laughed_ at me when I asked.”

“Only the best for Baek,” Chanyeol said with a laugh, picking up a handsome dagger from one of the display tables to inspect it.

“He doesn’t need it because it is the best,” Sehun grumbled. “He needs it because he wants to torture me.”

“Now, Sehun,” Lu Han said in mock offense, leaning forward to lay a hand on Sehun’s, “am I such a bother to visit?”

The younger man flushed at the words, ducking his head in embarrassment when Zitao laughed at the vendor’s teasing.

“That is not what I meant,” Sehun whined, turning an even darker shade of red when Lu Han’s light laughter filled the air around them. “You know you are never a bother to me.”

“Yes,” the older man admitted, his fingers playing with the hem of Sehun’s sleeve, “but I do love to hear you say it.”

Lu Han turned to Junmyeon then, tilting his head with a smile. “I’m surprised to see you here without Yixing. I’ve gotten used to him accompanying you on your trips to the market.”

“He came along,” Junmyeon answered with a smile of his own. “Off looking for more words to consume and use against us.”

“Ah, I should have known he would be off buying more books,” Lu Han said with a chuckle. “Nevertheless, what brings you here? More arrow heads?”

The prince could see the slight upturn of the man’s nose at the words, and chuckled softly. Lu Han shared Yixing’s disdain for hunting, though Lu Han’s reasoning was the unfairness of the hunt, hunting animals for the sake of sport, particularly when it concerned deer. “ _What had the hart done to deserve such treatment?_ ” he had asked once when they were little, scoffing at a man who was bragging about stumbling across an eight-point buck.

While he had known Lu Han’s hatred for hunting for years, Junmyeon couldn’t help but find the idea amusing, considering hunting supplies was a large part of their inventory.

“Not this time,” he answered, hand traveling over the leather pouches on the table to his right. “I am looking for a flint.”

“A flint?” Zitao questioned, looking away from the fighting staff he was admiring to give the prince a puzzled look. “You said the item was for Jongdae. What purpose does he have for a flint?”

“To assist him in building a fire, I would assume,” Junmyeon said with a shrug, avoiding the guard’s sharp gaze. “Perhaps he would just like to have one in case he would ever need it.”

“I have a lot of customers like that,” Lu Han commented lightly, “who come and buy all kinds of unnecessary items that they want because it is something they _may_ need later. A lot of weapons are sold in that manner.”

Both Chanyeol and Zitao shifted a few steps away from the weapons table.

“Well, regardless of the reason, I told him I could get it,” Junmyeon said with a tight smile. “Do you carry them?”

Lu Han scoffed at the question, giving the prince an incredulous look. “Really, Junmyeon. My shop is known for hunting and traveling gear, and you ask if I have flints?”

The man moved to one of the tables, his hand sweeping over the items laid out on display. Junmyeon could see a multitude of flints, and he grinned as he approached the table, eyeing the different options. After a moment, he selected a nice flint and steel set that came with a short knife and a tinderbox, all kept within a small leather pouch. It was probably a little more than Xiumin would care for - or, rather, care to take as a gift from him - but Junmyeon couldn’t bear to go with one of the simpler sets. This would provide Xiumin with all of the necessary tools he would need, in any situation, and that was good enough for the prince.

“How much does this one cost?” he asked, lifting the set up.

Lu Han peered at the items for only a moment before waving him off with a shake of his head. “There is no need. You’ve bought more extravagant items in the past. A flint set won’t be missed.”

Junmyeon rolled his eyes at the vendor, reaching towards his coin pouch as he stepped forward. “I may be the prince, but that does not mean I am exempt from pay, my friend. How much?”

“Junmyeon,” Lu Han started, but when the prince gave him a firm look, he relented, rattling off the price of the set. Junmyeon paid it readily, passing the money over before tying the set’s pouch to his belt.

“It seems you are not the only one to have had success in your purchases,” Zitao said behind him with a laugh, and Junmyeon turned in time to see Yixing approaching the stall. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh of his own at the sight of his best friend carrying three large books and a new bottle of ink in his arms, a happy smile on his face.

“I was hoping you would still be here,” Yixing called once he got closer. “I feared I would take too long in my search and be left to fend for myself.”

“I cannot very well leave you behind,” Junmyeon insisted. “Who else would give such sound advice?”

“You mean the advice you ignore?” Yixing teased with a scoff, before giving Lu Han and Sehun a nod in greeting. “Hello Lu Han, Sehun.”

“Do you not have enough books, friend?” Lu Han said cheerfully, and Yixing shrugged, shifting the books a little higher in his arms.

“One never has too many books.” He turned towards Junmyeon with an inquisitive look. “Did you find what you needed?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon said, patting his side. He ignored the way Yixing’s gaze fell to the pouch before returning to his face, waiting for an explanation. It was far too amusing to watch Yixing struggle to hold his tongue, lest the jealousy conversation be brought up once more. “Shall we return home?”

“I am ready if you are,” Yixing agreed, glancing towards Chanyeol and Zitao, who nodded. When they began walking back towards the castle, Yixing threw a look over his shoulder towards Sehun.

“Is Sehun not joining us?”

Junmyeon spared the younger man a look, nudging Yixing gently in the shoulder. “I doubt he is ready to leave Lu Han just yet.”

Yixing frowned, not understanding, but then his gaze fell to the others’ hands. Sehun had reached forward across the table that separated him and Lu Han, fingers lacing with Lu Han’s gently. The older man had leaned a little closer as well, falling into conversation as the group left, neither of them aware of the rest of the crowd as they talked and smiled, Sehun’s thumb tracing circles into the back of Lu Han’s hand.

He turned his head quickly, the frown deepening slightly, because how had he missed that? How long had Sehun been looking at Lu Han like he was the only thing worth his attention in that shop? It had a blush working its way up the back of his neck, burning hotly despite his attempts to suppress it. Yixing felt foolish for not noticing the relationship before, but when he looked towards Junmyeon, saw the way he smiled at the scene, he found he was unable to speak.

“No,” he said softly, keeping his eyes forward as he ignored the flutter in his chest, “I suppose not.”

-

When Junmyeon had agreed to let Jongdae accompany him on his next trip to see Xiumin, he had not realized he also agreed to the multitude of questions that Jongdae had. But it seemed Jongdae’s curiosity was relentless.

The stable hand had hardly stopped to take a breath since they reached the Royal Forest, practically bouncing in his excitement as he trailed behind Junmyeon, firing off one question after another.

“How much further is this man’s cottage?” he asked, and the prince rolled his eyes.

“Not far,” he answered, looking down again to make sure the path was still visible underneath his feet. They had been outside of the borders for a while now, and Junmyeon knew it would only be a matter of time before they would arrive.

And all of that time would undoubtedly be filled with more questions. Jongdae’s current obsession was trying to figure out the inner workings of Xiumin, something Junmyeon himself had little insight on. Not that that fact kept Jongdae from asking.

“I still don’t see why he lives out here,” he mused, throwing a hand out to the surrounding trees. “What is there to do in the woods?”

“Xiumin strikes me as a very private person,” Junmyeon said with a shrug. “Perhaps he does not enjoy the company of others.”

“Well, he’s just going to love us showing up unannounced, then,” Jongdae countered with a snort. “Honestly, though, what is not to like about people? I’d get very bored if the only person I could talk to was myself.”

Junmyeon smiled at that, shaking his head. “Not everyone can be as open, Jongdae. Sometimes secrets need to be kept for a reason.”

“And some secrets need to be shared,” Jongdae said with a laugh. “What do you think has driven him out here? A traumatizing past? A love gone awry?”

He paused, before adding, “Maybe he is horribly disfigured, with scars littering his body.”

Junmyeon barked out a laugh, shooting his friend a wide grin. “What would make you think such an awful thing?”

“He fought well against the bandits,” Jongdae reasoned. “Fighters always have scars.”

“You have heard too many tales of battle and adventure,” Junmyeon said with a chuckle. “Some people simply like to live alone. And even if he is disfigured, it would be rude to ask such questions.”

“Not rude,” Jongdae insisted. “I only ask so I can be prepared.”

“Well, get prepared, friend,” Junmyeon said with a grin, coming to a halt. “We are here.”

The cottage was just as unimposing as it had been before. A small, one room building made of simple but sturdy materials. Two small windows adorned the front, serving as the only decoration for the cottage, the rest a wash of beige and brown.

“Well,” Jongdae said softly at his side, have stopped next to the prince, “it certainly isn’t the castle. I like it.”

“Come on, then,” Junmyeon said, nearing the door. “We must not waste time out here.”

The two men fell silent as the prince knocked on the door of the cottage, the old wood creaking under each fist fall. He backed up, waiting, and shot Jongdae a look when there was no answer.

“Is he not home?” the stable hand asked, clearly disappointed, and Junmyeon sighed.

“We may need to wait,” he mused in thought, nearing to knock again. This time, he called out as well. “Xiumin, are you there?”

Moments later, the door was wrenched open, Xiumin’s wide eyes finding Junmyeon easily. Upon realizing who was at his doorstep, he groaned, dropping his head into his hand as he muttered under his breath.

“Suho, we talked about this.”

“We did,” Junmyeon agreed.

“You were supposed to forget about my existence,” Xiumin reminded him.

“I brought more tarts,” Junmyeon said with a smile, and the other huffed before his eyes slid to Jongdae. Another groan, this one almost pitching into a whine as his frown deepened. Jongdae straightened under the scrutiny, giving a small nod in hello.

“And you’ve endangered another one of your men, I see.” Xiumin tilted his head, pausing as he took the other’s appearance in. Recognition flickered through his expression. “Were you not a member of his company last time?”

“I was,” Jongdae confirmed with a nod.

“You must be loyal or stupid if you still follow him into danger,” the other said with a snort.

“You hardly look dangerous,” Jongdae teased back, and he beamed when Xiumin couldn’t hide his amusement, laughing at the stable hand’s words. “Xiumin, was it?”

“That is what I am called, yes,” the other replied.

“Well, you can call me Chen,” he greeted, and Junmyeon looked at Xiumin with a hopeful expression. With a roll of his eyes, the man stepped aside, letting the others in with a sigh.

“Save strangers in the woods _once_ , and they never leave you alone,” Xiumin grumbled quietly, and Jongdae laughed brightly as he passed.

Junmyeon gave the man a grateful smile as he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room. It hadn’t changed much from the last time he had been here, except for a few more furs on the bed. Probably to battle the cold that was creeping over the land.

He crossed the floor to settle himself in one of the chairs at the table, Jongdae choosing to stand against the far wall, his attention bouncing around his new surroundings.

Xiumin closed the door once they were in, and Junmyeon’s eyes caught the gleam of steel by his thigh before the man placed the dagger back in its sheath at his side, lowering himself in the seat across from Junmyeon. He gave a nearly inaudible sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders as he picked at the wood grain on the table.

“How many meals will I need to endure for your debt to be repaid?”

“A few,” Jongdae said with a chuckle. “With the occasional gift.”

Xiumin’s eyes shot up to pin Junmyeon with an exasperated look. “Gift?”

Junmyeon threw him a sheepish grin, untying the pouch at his side and laying it on the table in front of him. “A flint and steel set. For the winter.”

“ _Suho_ ,” Xiumin whined, the name drawn out to far more syllables than needed, “I don’t want your gifts.”

“It is only a flint,” Junmyeon insisted, gesturing towards the pouch innocently. “Such a small thing in exchange for a life, yes? And the winter is already promising to be colder than most.”

“You shouldn’t be buying me anything,” Xiumin replied stubbornly, though he eyed the pouch with curiosity. “I’ve taken care of myself for years without assistance.”

“Take it,” Junmyeon insisted gently. "Please."

When Xiumin went to protest, Jongdae spoke up. “It would be easier to accept the flint than to try and convince him you don’t need it.”

With a grumbled sigh, Xiumin nodded, reaching forward to take the pouch in his hands. He didn’t say anything more, but Junmyeon beamed all the same at the acceptance. Even if he were reluctant, it was a start.

Jongdae, on the other hand, was not content with simple acceptance.

“Well?” he asked, gaining both Junmyeon and Xiumin’s attention. “Aren’t you going to test it out?”

“I trust it works,” Xiumin responded, and Jongdae tsked as he shook his head.

“You’re just as stubborn as this one,” he said with a sigh, gesturing to Junmyeon before beckoning Xiumin over to the fireplace. “Come on. We might as well make sure it will serve its purpose.”

Xiumin pushed himself up and out of his chair before stalking towards the fireplace. Throwing the two of them a look that showed how displeased he was at their refusal to let him make his own decisions, he crouched by the fireplace and reached for a few pieces of wood, arranging them neatly before retrieving the flint and steel from the pouch. He struck the flint once, twice against the steel, sending sparks into the tinder he had placed in the wood, and soon, the sparks turned to flames. Xiumin straightened, smiling slightly as he fanned the fire, and once the wood was steadily burning, he trudged back to his chair and sat down.

“It works,” he said with a huff, though the small smile was still in place.

“And I bet it was easier to start with the flint,” Jongdae teased, propping his hip against the wall with a smug smile.

“But I didn’t need it,” Minseok still insisted, giving Junmyeon a pointed look. “Please remember that next time. I have lived on this earth for twenty-three years, and I do not need a keeper.”

“Maybe you have lived out here for so long that you have forgotten the kindness of others,” Junmyeon joked, crossing his arms as he watched the fire. “Sometimes people just like to help.”

“Which is why I stay far away,” Xiumin said with a chuckle. “To avoid the do-gooders like you and Chen.”

“You live so far from the city,” Jongdae piped up after a moment, having settled down on the floor with his back to the wall. He kept his gaze on the fire, just as Junmyeon did, but the prince could hear the man’s hesitation in his words that said he was deep in thought, and probably far more aware of Xiumin’s choices than he cared to admit. If anyone understood the desire to be alone, it was Jongdae, though that Jongdae was a thing of the past now.

“What has kept you from venturing closer?” the stable hand continued. “Surely the trip would benefit you, if it were only for supplies.”

“There’s nothing in the city for me,” Xiumin said softly, flipping the flint over and over between his fingers. The tension was back in his shoulders.

“And in the woods?” Jongdae asked pressingly, turning to look at Xiumin fully as he spoke. “What’s for you here?”

The flint stopped momentarily, Xiumin hesitating as he gathered his words. But the movement resumed quickly, Junmyeon watching the action silently as a wry smile found its way to the man’s lips.

“Fate,” he answered simply, refusing to meet either of their gazes.

The trio fell silent for a while, before conversation picked back up, noticeably safer in topic. Things like their ages - Jongdae pouted at the fact that he was the youngest - and the weather, or the taste of the apple tarts that Xiumin loved so much. And when the sun began to fall towards the horizon, Junmyeon and Jongdae rose to take their leave. Xiumin threatened them halfheartedly about coming to visit again, ordering them to stay away, and the two of them pretended to agree, though all three men knew it would not be the last time they saw one another. Junmyeon’s stubbornness would see to that. With a final farewell, the prince and the stable hand were off, talking excitedly about all they had learned, and about what excuses would be given to Yixing when they returned.

But even if they were content with the progress made, with their ability to get just a little bit closer to the man who saved their lives that day in the woods, curiosity burned through them at all of the things left unsaid or unexplained. They were far from sated. If anything, it seemed their interests had only been peaked further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: We just finished Chapter 6, and trust us, that chapter will be fun. Won’t break you or anything. Anyway-! Hope you enjoyed Chapter 4. And worry not, things won’t stay all fun and light-hearted (or will it and have we been lying to you all this time?)
> 
> Remember to look out for connections and such fun stuff! Granted, those connections may be easier to find after a few chapters. Regardless, thanks for reading! Hope you’ll stay with us until the angs- happy end! If you want to make us love you (even more) and have time to spare, kindly leave us a comment with your thoughts <3 They make our day, truly.
> 
> Meg’s Notes: Ah, the lovely fluff and humor of this chapter. All to make you feel safe, dear reader. Safe. And unprepared for Chapter 6. We are so excited. (Nat’s comment: Hehehe) Err...so, Chapter 4! More fun Krayho and our lovely Jongdae. As Nat said, connections are all through this...kind of...at least ones that will be a little more obvious later on. But this is one of the longest ones so far, so yay! I hope you all have loved it, and we hope you continue to support the story. And if that support is a comment, we love you. Very, very much. <3
> 
> P.S. Inspiration for the scene with Chantao and Jun in the market ^^  
> http://pirategoatcalico.tumblr.com/post/104091060016/chantao-being-a-dick-to-junmen-i-died-so-hard
> 
> Lovely readers, see you for Chapter 5!


	6. At Twenty-Four, His Life Shall Fade

Days turned into weeks and the chill of winter settled over the kingdom in earnest. Near the end of January, the cold remained as bitter as ever, snow burying the landscape under a soft blanket of white, almost shimmering in the sun’s sharp rays.

Winter’s cold did not deter Junmyeon, however. Together with Jongdae, he often ventured into the woods, the snow crunching under their feet and their breaths coming out in small puffs of steam as they followed the now familiar path to the cottage. Each time Xiumin opened the door to find they had come to visit, he’d frown or let out an exasperated sigh, muttering about wanting to be forgotten. But he would allow them inside and let them warm themselves by the fireplace with a cup of tea or a bowl of soup, prodded into conversation.

He had resigned to his fate when it came to Junmyeon and company being a recurring figure in his life. His determination to save himself from the complexities of human interactions had buckled underneath his new friends’ persistence and, slowly, he had allowed them closer than anyone had been in years. Closer than he ever imagined anyone would get ever again.

It was not easy for him, and he still felt the thorns of doubt wrapping around him when left to his own thoughts, but the presence of others eased his heart just as much as it weighed him down. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. But he couldn’t help but be drawn closer to the group, captured by their optimism, their perseverance, and the life that hummed in the air around them, vibrant and energetic. They made him feel alive.

Junmyeon visited together with Jongdae for the first many weeks, but hehad managed to sneak away and come without the other from time to time. Likewise, Jongdae sometimes went alone, and despite Xiumin still being withheld when it came to much of his personal life, the stable hand had gained the most ground on understanding Xiumin’s inner workings out of everyone else.  

Little things, that some might have missed, were picked up by Jongdae. He had managed to learn, for example, that the older hadn’t always lived alone. It hadn’t taken long for him to silently question the number of chairs, for one. Why have two chairs when Xiumin had seemed hell-bent on being alone? And maybe chairs could be explained away, but it didn’t explain the fact that Xiumin had enough dishes and utensils for when Junmyeon and Jongdae came by for a visit, which, Jongdae thought, was odd for a person living in solitude.

With this came the bookcase stuffed with books about everything and interesting trinkets that Jongdae wouldn’t have thought Xiumin would be interested in, like wooden figurines that were obviously whittled by hand. He’d seen a fine sword, too, tucked away in a corner beside the chest, next to his bow and quiver. A sword wasn’t strange to keep around, but when Jongdae had taken a closer look, he’d paid attention to the sheath, handsome but old. And covered in a layer of dust, untouched for what must have been a while.

Each of these things could have been explained away, but when Jongdae casually mentioned the chairs and number of dishes and utensils, Xiumin had relented that no, he had not always been by himself; however, he held his cards close and had refused to tell Jongdae more when he had tried to push past vague answers. He had shaken his head and changed the topic, and Jongdae realized this was something he would not be able to coax out of him in the span of a few months. Jongdae just knew there had once been someone in Xiumin’s life, someone Xiumin had held dear, but where that person was now, only Xiumin knew.

Jongdae could sympathize with Xiumin. He knew how it felt to be left behind, regardless of the circumstances, and he had this inkling that Xiumin had been through the same as him, namely the loss of parental figures. He was very observant of how Xiumin would avoid talking about a mother or father, just like how he never mentioned anything about his guardian ever since that talk with Jongdae, where Jongdae had brought up his own parents and the loss he had felt when they died in an attempt to get closer to Xiumin.

He liked to think that, while it hadn’t worked out exactly as he had hoped, what with Xiumin being as evasive as ever, the two of them had reached an understanding that day. They were kindred spirits, ones that had had shared similar tragedies if Jongdae’s intuition were correct, and something about that realization had them closer than ever.

The newfound comradery between the three men had eventually led the prince to work others into the visits. Yixing, of course, being the first. The advisor had become even more suspicious of the two, frowning slightly when Junmyeon would mention yet another trip to the stables, so it was only natural for him to be brought into the loop.

Yixing had taken it well, considering Junmyeon had been lurking around in the woods unguarded for the better part of three months. He had only subjected Junmyeon to an hour of the silent treatment before his own curiosity got the best of him, and he asked to meet the hooded hero properly, to which Junmyeon had happily obliged. The man had not been happy with sneaking out - _“What good am I as an advisor when you obviously care nothing for my advice or warnings?”_ \- but had done so when Junmyeon insisted it was important to keep this secret.

Xiumin had recognized Yixing right away, much to the advisor’s surprise, only mentioning that it was hard to forget the way he had been targeted by the leader as well, for his appearance. Junmyeon had jumped in as Yixing simply grimaced at the memory, throwing his arm around the man’s shoulders and introducing him as “Lay”. Jongdae had snorted outright at the given name, snickering behind his hand as Yixing shot Junmyeon a sidelong glare, but Junmyeon had smiled anyways. He had panicked, and the horse’s name had been the first to pop into his mind. He was quite fond of the horse, so Yixing should have considered it an honor, the prince would later defend.

Yifan proved to be the trickiest introduction. When Junmyeon had approached him on one of his return trips to the castle, the young lord had looked at him in obvious confusion, and only then had Junmyeon realized that Yifan never saw the other man. He had been unconscious for that part of the fight, and the prince began to doubt if he had ever been told of how they escaped with their lives. But he had been excited by the prospects of meeting such a mysterious figure, and went along happily. Introducing himself as “Jiaheng”, and coughing in embarrassment when Xiumin had remarked about him being “the unconscious one”, Yifan had quickly tried to redeem himself, stating the bandits had been “lucky to have caught me off guard” and assured he was a much better fighter than first impressions would suggest.

Yixing and Yifan only ever visited with Junmyeon in tow, and asides from Junmyeon or Jongdae occasionally going alone, the four of them made a habit to visit the cottage together. Xiumin had been overwhelmed by the amount of bodies in his home for the first few visits when they all came, but after a while they had settled into a routine that all five found enjoyable.

But by the middle of February, Junmyeon grew tired of using a false persona. Not only was it difficult to keep track of everyone’s identity - he had the most trouble with Yixing’s name, constantly having to pause before he spoke - but it felt wrong, in a way. Here Xiumin was, having protected them and allowing them to enter his life, and he was still masquerading as “Suho, the tradesman”. While he had needed the name earlier, when the idea of being vulnerable in the woods with a title worth a lot of ransom, Xiumin had proven himself trustworthy. Surely he would be able to handle Junmyeon’s true identity.

Yifan, it seemed, thought otherwise.

It had taken up the majority of their conversation during Yixing’s poetry lesson, much to the constant annoyance of Yixing, who dutifully tried to keep the talk geared towards academics in vain. His current attempt including having Junmyeon and Yifan take turns reading stanzas.

“Alright, Your Highness,” he muttered, sighing as he trailed his fingers over the lines on the page in front of him. “Can you read the next lines, please?”

Junmyeon did as he was told, peering down at the words on the page before reciting the stanza Yixing wanted:

_“Her Autumn froze in Winter’s hold_  
_The world cast o’er in shadow, cold_  
_A final breath_  
_Earth’s quiet death  
_ _And dark the skies once cast in gold.”_

Yixing nodded when Junmyeon met his eyes again and cleared his throat. “And what do ‘Autumn’ and ‘Winter’ signify in these lines?”

The nobles exchanged looks, and Yixing sighed. “You do know this is a subjective topic, correct? There is no right or wrong answer.”

“… The seasons?” Yifan guessed, and Yixing’s glare was immediate.

“I stand corrected. What else?”

When they remained silent, Yixing rubbed his forehead as he turned his attention back to the passage. “Alright. Options then. I guess Yifan is not completely wrong. The poet _could_ have easily been naming the seasons as only that; a passage of time. But paired with the next line, which talks about shadows cast over the world, it can easily be turned into a reflection of the woman’s sadness or heartache. Take, for example, the way the skies in this have -”

“I still do not think it wise to reveal your title to Xiumin,” Yifan whispered, his low baritone rumbling beneath Yixing’s lighter voice as the advisor carried on with his lesson. “It is not necessary.”

“It was also not necessary for him to assist us all of those months ago,” Junmyeon argued, pressing his words into the palm of his hand that propped him up in an effort to muffle his voice. “And yet, he did. Does that not deserve the truth?”

“It deserves your gratitude,” Yifan insisted. “Nothing more.”

“He is my friend,” Junmyeon continued. “ _Our_ friend. And maybe you are okay with being Jiaheng for the rest of your life, but I do not want to be Suho. I want to be Junmyeon.”

Yifan sighed, shaking his head before relenting. “Well, if you are so hell-bent on revealing yourself, you should at least bring along a guard for protection.”

“And who would you suggest?” Junmyeon said softly, huffing at the words. “Chanyeol cannot very well follow us into the forest without raising some suspicions.”

“Tao would probably accompany us, if we asked.”

Junmyeon shot the man a knowing grin, raising his eyebrow at the use of the nickname. “Oh, you would like _Tao_ to join us?”

“He is a capable fighter,” Yifan argued, though the blush that stained his cheeks had Junmyeon chuckling softly.

“Is that all?” Junmyeon countered, nudging the man at his side. “It seems as if the two of you have grown closer in the last few months.” He had noticed the two deep in conversation from time to time, or sparring. Yifan had gotten stronger, quicker, better under Zitao’s instruction, and he had seen the way the young lord would bloom with pride underneath Zitao’s praise.

“Tell me,” Junmyeon whispered, leaning closer to Yifan, “do you want him to come along for his fighting skill or because you enjoy his company?”

Yifan scoffed at that, and Yixing’s words trailed off, sharp eyes snapping up from his notes to pin Yifan with a glare. “Do you wish to make a comment, Yifan, or do you just interrupt because you know it irks me?”

“If I said the latter, would you stop the lesson earlier?” Yifan quipped, hissing when Yixing swatted at his head.

“Poetry is not to be rushed,” Yixing growled, glancing between the two nobles. “I suggest you pay attention, lest I decide the lesson should be extended.”

Junmyeon and Yifan groaned at the threat, because they had already been at this lesson for close to an hour. Both fell silent as Yixing continued, the advisor only slightly smug at his victory, and the rest of the lesson was spent trying to understand the complexities of metaphors and emotions in poetry. Junmyeon had a sneaking suspicion that Yifan did not mind, however, as it meant the attention was taken away from his fondness for a certain member of the royal guard.

Junmyeon smiled as he listened to Yixing explain the next stanza. Perhaps his nightingale would find Yifan’s interest in Zitao entertaining. He would be sure to tell him later, as an apology for telling Yifan about his neck. Yixing would certainly find a good use for such information.

-

Though Junmyeon was adamant about revealing himself to Xiumin, he still had no clue of how to go about it. He had practiced quite a few times in his head, bouncing his words off of different scenarios and reactions, but nothing ever seemed natural. Then again, how natural could it be to tell someone you have known for months that you are not the person they think you are?

He had contemplated just outright saying it, blurting out the words as if his lungs could not hold it back any longer. And he had considered leading into it with small talk, casually dropping the information amidst comments about the weather and the latest news in the city. But nothing seemed to fit. The prince thought his hesitation mostly had to do with his still vague knowledge of the inner workings of Xiumin. The man was unpredictable, and that made it hard to choose a course of action.

What if Xiumin got angry? Refused to speak to him ever again? What if he considered this the utmost betrayal? Or what if it were turned? What if Xiumin used his status against him, blackmailed him or sold him off like the bandits would have done?

The idea of Xiumin being among the ranks of those horrible men seemed unlikely to Junmyeon, though. While he may not know much about Xiumin’s life, he knew enough about his character. Even with the quieted nature and reluctance to venture further than his comfort zone, the man seemed loyal and honest to a fault. He wouldn’t use Junmyeon for personal gain. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be upset.

Jongdae, for what it was worth, was trying to be encouraging.

“He’ll be fine,” Jongdae said as he walked a little bit in front of Junmyeon, turning around to walk backwards from time to time as he spoke. He was the only one to accompany Junmyeon after some contemplation. It was better not to overwhelm Xiumin with all of them at once. That, and Junmyeon had not actually told Yixing his plans of revealing himself. He figured he would tell him after the fact, and beg for forgiveness then.

“I’m sure he’ll understand the necessity for keeping your identity hidden,” Jongdae continued, his tone even and reassuring.

“But for so long?” Junmyeon asked, carefully stepping through the snow. “We have known him for months, and yet we have not corrected the initial introduction.”

“Trust takes time to develop,” Jongdae countered. “And he hasn’t exactly been an open book either. If anyone would understand the purpose of hiding, I’m certain it would be him.”

“You almost sound bitter, Jongdae,” Junmyeon teased, and the other laughed, throwing his head back with the sound.

“I’m not bitter,” Jongdae assured, tossing the prince a wide grin. “Intrigued, yes, but not bitter. If anything, I enjoy the challenge.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, he is probably hiding just as much. After all, have you ever heard of the name ‘Xiumin’? Maybe a proper introduction will lead to more doors being opened.”

“Is that how you justify your interest in him?” Junmyeon mused, laughing when Jongdae faltered in his steps. “Are you trying to crack the shell that is Xiumin with all of your treks out here alone?”

Jongdae squawked in protest, but the prince was already pushing ahead of him, the cottage just up ahead. They pushed through the untouched snow that had fallen that night, excited by the prospects of getting out of the cold. They could already see the smoke rising from the chimney, and they were drawn to it like a beacon in the dark.

It was Jongdae who first noticed there was another creature that also seemed drawn towards the warmth.

“A crow,” he observed, gesturing towards the shed by the side of the house, where Xiumin stored wood for the winter. Junmyeon followed his line of vision and found the bird easily, black feathers a stark contrast against the white snow. The bird hardly moved as they approached, watching the men silently from its perch.

“Odd for this time of year,” Jongdae continued. “And alone, at that.”

“Perhaps it is lost,” Junmyeon stated with a shrug, watching as the crow finally took flight as they reached the door, gliding through the trees and disappearing. Jongdae had watched it for just a little longer as Junmyeon reached forward to knock on the door of the cottage.

The crow was forgotten when Xiumin opened the door to greet them, both men frowning in worry at the sight of their friend. Sweat clung to his sickly pale skin, and while a smile adorned his face when his gaze fell upon Junmyeon and Jongdae, it was weak at best.

Jongdae’s brows pulled closer together when he caught sight of the man trembling slightly, and he wondered how hard it was for him to remain upright. He itched to move forward, to provide support, but did not know how Xiumin would respond to such a move, knowing he was not one for physical contact. Instead, he made his concerns known with his voice.

“Are you ill, Xiumin?”

The older man waved him off, giving a half-hearted shrug. “It’s nothing. A cold, from the winter weather.”

“You seem to be running a fever,” Jongdae continued, unconvinced by the man’s show of indifference. Junmyeon shifted in his spot next to him, his own worry coming through in the nervous fidget. “How long has it affected you?”

“Only a day or so,” Xiumin responded, doing his best to smile in reassurance. “It will break soon. I am sure of it.”

“Have you eaten?” Junmyeon spoke up, pulling at the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. “Allow us to give you a proper meal, at least.”

“Is food always on your mind?” Xiumin asked with a chuckle, but slid to the side to allow the two men in. Jongdae’s eyes swept the area as he entered, noting the logs by the fireplace were running low. Perhaps he could get some more from the shed before they left. While the fire was burning steadily in the fireplace, Jongdae knew it would only be a matter of time before the flames died down, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of Xiumin fighting through the snow to bring in more firewood.

Junmyeon got to work, unpacking the food they had brought along from the castle’s kitchen today, and Xiumin settled down in a chair at the table. A small laugh left him at the sight of tarts being placed out, amongst other dishes.

“You are going to make me fat,” he teased. “It’s a wonder I even remember how to hunt when you keep bringing feasts to my table.”

Junmyeon made some comment in protest, but Jongdae’s attention had slipped away from the table as he neared the desk, looking for the flint. He didn’t need it just yet, but it would give him something to occupy himself with for now. He needed to feel useful, and with Junmyeon handling the food, he figured the fire would be his duty. His search for the flint was short-lived. however, as his attention was pulled towards something else.

The stable hand had noticed the small wooden figures that littered one side of Xiumin’s desk on the first visit, but he had never really taken the time to examine them for longer than a glance. Only now did he realize the amount of detail that went into each one. It seemed the majority of them were animals. He reached forward, letting his hands glide over the wooden sculptures, fingers tracing the curve of a bear’s claw here, the line of a wolf’s spine there. Out of all of the animals, however, one in particular seemed to be repeated.

Jongdae picked up one for a closer look, flipping the figurine over and over in between his fingers. A crow, he realized, this one looking to be midflight, its beak open in a silent cry. Xiumin had taken his time with this one, detailing the feathers and talons, and Jongdae was in awe of the craftsmanship.

He didn’t get to admire the work for much longer, Junmyeon clearing his throat as he pushed the food closer to Xiumin. Jongdae could hear the hesitation in the sound, and knew the prince was getting ready to start the tricky conversation he had been stressing over for the last few days. He abandoned the desk and moved closer to the pair, reaching out to grab a tart from the table and settling himself against the wall before biting into the pastry.

Xiumin snorted at the stable hand, grumbling something about saving the tarts for dessert and dodging Jongdae’s foot as he kicked out at him from his position on the floor. He laughed as he turned his attention to his own food, but he stopped short when Junmyeon cleared his throat again, this time a little more firmly.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he started, and Xiumin chuckled at the words.

“For what? Barging into my cottage unannounced? Aren’t we past that by now?”

He grinned widely at his joke, but the smile fell as he realized Junmyeon had not joined in. He gave Jongdae a sideways glance, but Jongdae only shrugged, knowing Junmyeon had to be the one to do this. Xiumin turned his attention back to the other man seated at the table, regarding him carefully, and Junmyeon took it as his cue to continue.

“I have not been completely honest with you,” Junmyeon said quietly, swirling his drink around in his cup.

“About what?” Xiumin asked, and Jongdae could see the way his posture had gone rigid, tense in his apprehension, though he was doing his best to keep his expression calm. It was a pretty decent mask, Jongdae thought, but he had always been good at reading people, and right now, Xiumin was nervous.

“Do you remember that first day in the woods?” Junmyeon said in lieu of an answer, lifting his gaze to meet Xiumin’s. “My party was attacked by those bandits, and I was targeted.”

“Yes,” Xiumin responded with a short nod, “because of your trade in the city.”

Junmyeon grimaced, giving a dry laugh to try and cover the guilt that was written in his eyes. “That was not exactly true.”

Xiumin took in the words silently, seeming to mull over each syllable carefully before forming a reply. “Alright. Then why were you targeted?”

“Because of who I am,” Junmyeon stated softly, glancing at Jongdae and taking a deep breath before continuing. “Because of my role in the kingdom.”

He leaned forward slightly, as it he were about to divulge a secret, which, in a way, he was. Jongdae already knew what he would say, but found himself leaning closer anyways to catch the man’s words, his eyes trained on the side of Xiumin’s face.

“My name is not Suho,” he said in a low voice, making sure to hold Xiumin’s gaze as he spoke. “My name is Kim Junmyeon, and I am the crown prince to the kingdom of Luoes.”

To his credit, Xiumin did not react immediately. The only sign that he was stressed, that Jongdae could find, was the way his hands had fisted the fabric of his pants, knuckles white with the force. But his face was stone, his breathing was even, and for a moment, no one spoke. The air returned to the room as Xiumin broke the silence, his voice coming out in a whisper.

“I don’t understand,” he started, wetting his lips as he collected his thoughts. “I _saved_ you. Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Had I not deserved that?”

“We were badly wounded,” Junmyeon answered, shaking his head. “After being threatened for our identity, it did not seem wise to give it away again when we would have been hard-pressed to defend ourselves.”

“So I was no better than those bandits in your eyes?” Xiumin snapped, before looking away and taking a breath, turning his eyes back to Junmyeon when he had composed himself again. “Do you think all random acts of kindness hold ulterior motives, or was I a special case?”

“Xiumin, please,” Junmyeon said, frowning. “I never… I never meant to go this long without telling you, but we had to be sure you could be trusted.”

“The power of having a vulnerable prince at your mercy can change even the best of men,” Jongdae added quietly, and Xiumin scoffed.

“And I assume that means you aren’t Chen, right?” he spat, his words almost wounded in tone. Jongdae couldn’t help the ache in his chest at the question, knowing the man was hurting because of this. “Do you have some grand title as well?”

Jongdae smiled, not rising to the bait, but answered with as even a voice as he could muster, “My name is Kim Jongdae, and I am but a stable hand. The horses do not care for grand titles.”

Xiumin’s eyes moved between the two men, and Jongdae forced himself to remain still when he noticed the slight tremble in his hands. He was overwhelmed, but touching him right now would only make matters worse. Xiumin placed his hands flat on the table, pinning Junmyeon with a sharp look.

“Lay?” he asked, and Junmyeon winced.

“Zhang Yixing, my advisor.”

“And Jiaheng?”

“Wu Yifan, son of a duke in one of the nearby districts.”

Xiumin leaned back in his chair, two hands covering his face as he groaned.

“You didn’t trust me enough with your names, but you came to visit without _any_ sort of protection. _What were you thinking_?”

“You have met my guards,” Junmyeon admitted, giving the man a small smile. “Chanyeol and Zitao are two of my best men. They were there that day in the woods. But sneaking out of the castle is significantly easier without taking the best of the royal guard with me.”

“Besides,” Jongdae piped up, “Junmyeon has never been the best at abiding by the rules his parents have set.”

Xiumin remained quiet, still hidden behind his hands, and Jongdae couldn’t help but shift in his spot, his instincts telling him to comfort the other man. He was paler than when they had first arrived. Maybe they should have waited to tell him to after the fever had broken.

Pulling himself up onto his knees, he reached out with the intention of laying a hand on Xiumin’s leg, before thinking better of it and letting his fingers curl back into a fist, falling to his side.

“Xiu?” he called softly, wishing the man would uncover his face. “I know this is a lot to take in, but your fever… You must try to stay calm -”

Both Jongdae and Junmyeon jumped as Xiumin brought his fist down on the table, dishes rattling from the strength behind the blow. He turned to glare at Jongdae, his chest rising and falling with the strain of keeping still.

“You expect me to be _calm_?” he bit out between clenched teeth. “After all of this, you think it’s easy for me to not react?”

Xiumin put a hand over his chest, eyes burning with anger and confusion, and looked every bit as overwhelmed as they had feared he would be. “How would you feel if you were in my position? If you just found out that your…” He paused, shaking his head as he tried to articulate himself. “If you found out your friend was actually a prince, and that everyone you’ve met in the last few months had been lying to you?

“How would you feel if you trusted people enough to let them into your life after living alone for years, and then found out they aren’t the people you thought they were?” he finished, and Jongdae’s gaze fell to his lap.

There was no hiding the hurt in those words, and it wasn’t like it wasn’t justified. They had known how painfully reluctant Xiumin had been to accept their interest in him, how he had blatantly refused them at first, clear that they would remain strangers after the incident in the woods. But they had forced their ways into his life, little by little, befriended him. Jongdae couldn’t imagine how much damage they may have done, how much they had just confirmed to Xiumin that being alone was for the best.

No one spoke. No one moved. The silence fell heavily over their shoulders, and Jongdae gnawed at his bottom lip, avoiding the eyes of the others.

Junmyeon was the first to try and put the pieces back together.

“I am sorry,” he said softly, and Jongdae chanced a glance up at the prince. Junmyeon had his head in his hands, elbows on the table as he propped himself up. But as he spoke, he looked up at Xiumin, trying to catch the other’s eyes. “I am so sorry, Xiumin. If I could… Even if my intentions were to assure my safety in a vulnerable situation, you had proven you were a good man. I should have told you that very first day. All I can do is apologize for my actions.”

Xiumin sniffed, shaking his head before turning his attention to the prince. He took a breath, his exhale sounding much smoother than it had been minutes before, and found his voice.

“It was what you thought was best,” he reasoned, though the words felt forced. “I apologize for my outburst. Anger was perhaps not the best response.”

“We do not blame you for it,” Junmyeon assured. “If anything, we probably deserved much worse.”

Jongdae nodded at that assessment, and Xiumin’s eyes slid to him at the movement. He flinched at the look, ducking his head again as his mouth opened, working around an apology that he just couldn’t quite get out. He didn’t know how to word it without it sounding fake, the words too shallow to even begin to explain the depth of his regret. He had always struggled to find the right words, using actions instead. It was the reason he turned to physical contact, showing his emotions through the small touches here and there.

But even as he reached out again, fingers spread wide as they neared the other, he hesitated. Xiumin had already been through so much today. Would his touch not serve as that final push? He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him more.

Before he could pull away again, his hand was caught in a gentle grip, and he looked up in surprise. Xiumin was not looking at him, his eyes falling to the food that was set in front of him, still untouched, but his hand was warm where it wrapped around Jongdae’s fingers. It was nothing, but it was also everything, and Jongdae didn’t know if the pressure in his chest was from his guilt flaring up again or if it were from affection for the other man, who seemed to know exactly what he needed in that moment.

He didn’t get the chance to question it, however, when he registered just how _warm_ the other man’s hand was around his. Far too warm.

“Your fever,” he muttered, his brows pulled tightly together as he rose to his feet, squeezing Xiumin’s hand in his as he stood. “It’s gotten worse since we arrived.”

“Perhaps the stress of our visit has affected you,” Junmyeon added quietly.

Xiumin shook his head, pulling his hand back from the stable hand and laying it in his lap. “I’m fine. The fever is nothing I haven’t had before.”

“Perhaps you should eat?” Jongdae pressed. “Or rest? You must be tired.”

“I feel alright, I assure you,” Xiumin tried to insist, glancing to the fireplace. “Perhaps if I tend to the fire...” He trailed off, standing to cross the floor. But as he stood, he wobbled dangerously, and Jongdae was by his side in an instant, Junmyeon standing as well at the sight.

He found his feet again quickly, but Jongdae refused to move away, worry etched into his expression as he noticed the way Xiumin’s cheeks had flared with red, his breathing slightly labored from exertion.

“You should not be up,” Jongdae said firmly, looking to Junmyeon for assistance. The prince moved immediately, coming to Xiumin’s other side.

“We’ll see to the fire,” Jongdae continued, meeting Junmyeon’s gaze over Xiumin’s shoulder, “and then we will take our leave. You’ve had enough excitement for the day.”

Xiumin huffed, but nodded, his face drawn and pale from standing. “Alright,” he agreed softly. “Alright.”

Jongdae and Junmyeon half-walked, half-carried the other to his bed, lowering him to sit on the edge before backing away. Junmyeon went towards the table, quickly gathering the food and placing it in the wrappings before leaving it there, insisting that Xiumin should eat when some of his strength had returned. Jongdae retreated to the door, heading for the shed to find more wood.

Only when all of the food was cleaned up and the stack of wood in the corner was significantly replenished did Jongdae glance back to Xiumin. He looked tired, subdued, and the idea of leaving him here alone suddenly seemed like the worst decision he had made in a long time. But Xiumin had lived alone long enough to be able to take care of himself, and he knew staying would only mean more stress on him.

“We will leave you to your rest, now,” he stated quietly, watching as Xiumin lifted his head to meet his gaze. “But we will not wait so long for our next visit.”

“Tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps?” Junmyeon chimed in, and the hope in his voice was almost tangible in the air around them. Jongdae knew they were testing their limits, seeing if Xiumin would send them away for good this time.

To their relief, Xiumin only nodded, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Maybe by then I will have shaken this cold,” he said light-heartedly, and Jongdae could not help but smile. There was still pain in those words, but he was trying, and that was all Jongdae could ask for. If Junmyeon’s bright grin was any indication, it seemed he was just as happy with the other’s attempts.

When Jongdae opened the door, ushering Junmyeon out into the snow in front of him, he paused. There, in his footprint from when he had gone to get the firewood, harsh against the white of the snow, was a single black feather. He checked the surrounding trees, the roof of Xiumin’s home, but there was no bird in sight, nor was there any other indication that a bird had been there at all.

His mind went back to their arrival, and the crow that had greeted them on their approach, as well as the wooden crows that found themselves settled amid the other wooden creatures on Xiumin’s desk.

“Hey, Xiu?” he called over his shoulder, looking back to where the man still sat on his bed. He had tried to escort them to the door, but neither Junmyeon nor Jongdae had allowed it. When he called back in question, Jongdae continued. “Are there a lot of crows around here?”

Xiumin paused, his eyes widening just the slightest bit before he answered with a question of his own. “Why do you ask?”

“Your figurines,” he said, gesturing back towards the desk, Xiumin following his gaze. “There are quite a few crows there. And there was one lingering around your shed when we first got here. The damn thing must be shedding feathers, for there is one out here in the snow.”

The tension in Xiumin’s shoulders was immediate, and the man shivered as he looked past Jongdae to the snow outside. Jongdae’s first response was to pull the door a little further closed, trying to shield him from the cold air that was seeping into the cottage. The winter air couldn’t be good for his health.

When Xiumin finally answered, his voice was strained, trembling. “I’ve lived here all of my life, and crows have always been a part of it.”

Jongdae nodded, giving a small shrug as he looked back to Junmyeon, who stood just outside. Once again, he felt like they shouldn’t leave. Not now, when Xiumin was still so visibly shaken by his illness. But staying wasn’t an option. While Xiumin might agree to letting them loiter for a little longer, his mind as well as his body would be unable to rest, still trying to figure out just where he stood with the two of them. It was better to leave.

He would visit soon, with or without Junmyeon. He would make sure of it.

Giving Xiumin a final smile, he bid the man farewell, stepping out to join the prince in what was sure to be a quiet walk back to the castle.

With the door closed firmly behind their backs, neither man witnessed Xiumin’s expression slipping into one of horror.

-

In retrospect, Xiumin knew he didn’t really have the right to be upset over fake personas. After all, he knew all too well the reasons for keeping one’s identity hidden.

Kim Minseok had always liked the name “Xiumin”, which Kou had called him in all the time Minseok had known him. Kou told him it meant jade in some ancient language that was long forgotten, and Minseok had initially been drawn to it for the stone’s simple beauty and high value. As he grew older, however, he realized that Kou had given him the name for other reasons, one being to protect Minseok. Jade stones symbolized protection and strength to overcome the most difficult of hindrances, and Kou believed naming Minseok after the stone would help protect him from darker days to come.

It had not taken long for Minseok to find out about his true lineage. As a child, he had always been bright, quick to catch onto things and details kids his age would usually miss. Like the bird that seemed to linger nearby, or the way Kou seemed wary of ever allowing him to accompany him on his trips to the city. Kou had been aware of this intuition, too, and when Minseok began to ask questions that no young child should ever have to ask, Kou could only answer honestly, knowing he couldn’t keep the boy’s past a secret forever.

Minseok had come to terms with it. He had matured at a young age, something Kou had tried to avoid, and had stayed far away from the city and relationships that could make his fate harder to accept. The fact that he would die before he even had a chance to know how it was to live.

The fire’s light bounced around the interior of his home, flickering in his peripheral vision even when his eyes lingered on the door. He had been up more than once to keep the fire burning, shuffling back and forth across the floor carefully, leaving his bed just long enough to bring the embers back to life. It was important that it kept burning. One thing was the warmth the fire emitted, chasing away the cold winter air. Another was the darkness. He couldn’t handle waking up in the dark tonight.

Minseok slowly rose from the bed again, walking to the fireplace to add more wood. He knew, however, that he could add all of the logs he had, and it would not eliminate the chill that had settled deep within his bones.

Regardless of his internal emotions, his body was in fact warm. Uncomfortable so, with his fever. He had long ago shed his usual night shirt, his linen drawers providing his only coverage other than the thin layer of sweat that enveloped his form. Being so close to the fire was enough to bring back the lightheadedness of before, the heat almost smothering at times, but the fire was essential, and his fever would hopefully break soon.

He reached for the wood, mouth set in a firm line as he stoked the flames, all the while trying to will away the shaking of his hands. Deeming the amount of logs to be fitting for now, he slowly approached the door. Only after he had assured himself that the locks were in place did he retreat to the bed and sit down, placing his hands in his lap as he stole glances at the door, fiddling with the flint Suho had given him.

His body needed rest, still fighting his illness, but his mind wouldn’t allow it fully, too aware of his surroundings, too wrapped up in his thoughts. He knew it was ridiculous, this anxiety he was feeling, his fear getting the better of him.

He feared a lot of things. Darkness, social interactions, memories. Memories, in particular, was something he had a hard time dealing with, bringing about dreams of days best forgotten, things he did not wish to remember. But his memories did not care for his wishes, and came all the same, mostly at night when he was fighting a losing battle with his conscious to stay awake.

During the day, he could occupy his mind with other tasks; but at night, his memories won out, appearing in the form of nightmares. Every year around this month, when the weather was at its worst, he would find himself jolted from sleep night after night, covered in cold sweat and unable to escape the images that burned behind his eyes.

It always started like this, making himself sick with dread and stress, busying himself to the point of exhaustion in hopes that his sleep would be without dreams, his mind too tired to replay his past. He could feel his breath coming quicker, and he knew tonight would be a long one.

Quietly, he flipped the flint within his hand, his eyes finding the door once more.

Already, his senses were playing tricks on him, only heightened by his fear. He had checked the locks no less than four times, but that didn’t stop him from checking again. And again. Because with night settling over the woods, he no longer felt safe. Every creak in the trees, every crunch of snow - all of the sounds were personal, targeting him in his small cottage. And even with the door locked, he couldn’t rest, because not everything could be kept out by wood and iron.

Nothing he did would stop the dreams tonight. Not with the new information he had just learned. Not when he now knew he had a brother.

Suho - _Junmyeon_ , his mind corrected, _his name is Junmyeon_ \- had been so nervous, sitting across from him with a conflicted expression. And Minseok had known whatever it was he needed to say was going to sting a little, upset him, but this was more than he would have ever been prepared to handle. Anyone would have been shocked, learning a friend had lied to them, but learning that friend was your _brother_ was like a dagger to Minseok’s heart, twisting just an inch more with every question that followed his realization.

Did Junmyeon know he wasn’t an only child? Did Junmyeon realize who Minseok was? Did _he_ know Junmyeon was visiting him?

His first reaction was to get Junmyeon as far away from Crow as he could, and to make him take Chen - _Jongdae_ \- with him. He had never seen the man himself, but he had heard the stories, knew what he had done to his family. They couldn’t stay here. Not when Minseok was in his last year. Not when everyone around him had been taken away.

The newest log popped at the heat of the flames surrounding it, and Minseok flinched away, startled by the noise. He set the flint to the side, freeing his hands to scrub at his face. The fire would be fine for a few hours. He had to stay awake.

He was struck by the similarities he saw between Junmyeon and him. He wasn’t sure if he would have seen it, had he not looked for it, but they both had a handful of shared traits. Stubbornness, for one. They were both incredibly hardheaded. He wondered if such a trait were from their father, or perhaps their mother was the stubborn one. He had seen himself enough to know their looks, while not exactly favoring one another, did have some common points, at least from what he could remember of his reflection. The slope of their noses, the roundness of their chins.

But just as their looks had grown into their own distinctive features, their personalities had grown in opposite directions as well. Junmyeon was outgoing, impulsive, childlike in a way that Minseok envied, having grown up too quickly and fallen to a silent demeanor. He was quick to trust, while Minseok found it easier to avoid others instead. And while Junmyeon might not have cared for his well-being, it seemed to be the only thing Minseok could think about, cautious to a fault.

Fear crept down Minseok’s spine at a sudden thought. Jongdae had mentioned the crow earlier, how the feathers had been left behind. The bird was always careful to stay hidden, even when Minseok knew it was there. If Junmyeon were not concerned with being careful, how long had the crow known he was visiting?

What if it were claiming those he held dear, just like it had done with Kou?

He shook his head violently at the thought, hands fisting the fabric of his blanket. No. No, it couldn’t. There wasn’t any indication that Crow had kept up with the Kim family after his departure from the castle. Kou had kept an eye on the kingdom, had said things looked to be proceeding normally, though he never mentioned a brother. With good reason, he knew, for Minseok would have desperately wished to see him sooner, had he known he existed.

But the crow, _the damn crow_. He had been waiting for it to show itself again, watching the trees for any sign of the creature, only for its appearance to be revealed through another. If the crow had been lurking outside, had seen Jongdae and Junmyeon, had allowed them to be aware of its presence…

He covered his mouth as his breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling quickly as he willed the bile back down his throat.

The crow _knew_.

Minseok was on his feet before he realized what he was doing, pushing through the fog that clouded his mind as he stumbled towards the door. His hands fumbled with the lock before flinging his last defense from the weather open, stepping out into the fresh snow.

Nothing moved as his eyes scanned the dark woods surrounding his home, the night air still around him. But it was there. He knew it was there. In every shadow, every hidden branch, every pocket of darkness, the crow was _there_.

“Stay away from them,” he whispered, shaking his head as he shivered from the cold. Even without the wind, the air was biting at his skin, stealing away what little warmth the fire had provided. But he didn’t care, too driven by his fearful realization.

The others would be targeted. Because of him.

“You want me,” he said again, his voice growing louder with every syllable. “ _Me_. Not them. They are left alone.”

A whine left his lips as his mind flashed with memories and fantasies, his hands covering his ears against the noises that echoed only in his mind, loud and inescapable. Images flickered behind closed eyes, shifting and changing at a terrifying speed as he doubled over, his body shaking from something harsher than winter air.

Red staining the snow. A black feather on a lifeless chest. Jongdae’s body limp on the ground, and Junmyeon… Junmyeon’s face frozen in his scream.

“ _You stay away_ ,” he shouted to the woods as he staggered a few steps away from the door, the words echoing in the trees as he lashed out at the air, hands pushing away invisible terrors that bombarded his thoughts. “Do you hear me? Stay the _fuck_ away from them!”

His voice cracked over the words, popping like the wood in his fireplace, stressed and overwhelmed. And his breath came in heavy pants, chest pounding with each inhale. And still, the woods remained silent, not a sound given in answer. It was taunting him, and he whimpered at the silence, wishing for something, _anything_ , to happen.

It wasn’t until a particularly violent shiver that Minseok forced himself to turn back to the cottage, disappearing once more inside and shutting the door firmly behind him.

His hand was circled around one of the crow figurines before he registered he had crossed the distance to his desk, the wood sharp against his palm. His upper lip curled into a sneer as he examined the details, the way he had shaped the creature’s form so meticulously, carefully. As if he would forget the damn thing if he didn’t preserve it in pine.

Long fingers closed tighter around the crow, white-knuckled in the grip. He didn’t know why he had carved so many of these birds. It was torturous. Pointless.

The crack of the wooded figure as it hit the back of the fireplace offered only momentary satisfaction, and he lowered himself to sit on his bed in defeat. He was exhausted, watching as the flames consumed the small crow he had spent hours carving, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t. If he did, he knew what awaited him.

A shuddered sigh left his lips as he watched the fire burn, the lights flickering and shifting, keeping the shadows at bay, confined to the corners of the room, hidden away for now. But it was only a matter of time before those shadows crept out once again, pulling him into their hold.

He rubbed at his face, biting his lip when tears stung behind his eyelids. He had to stay awake.

But sleep, like his fear, would always win out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg’s Notes: Dun dun duuuuuuuuun. And here begins the angst that we have been promising (teasing) for the last few chapters. And we are so excited. Poor, poor Minseok, and his lovely breaking. And those lovely connections we always talk about (and slave over and hope people catch, because well...we are kind of really proud of this story) are all through this update. Lots of little things, as well as very big things. And all in time for Minseok’s birthday! Well, at least for my time. Nat’s however...
> 
> But hey! Lots of fun in this one, right? Just wait. More “fun” to come. Plus, the next chapter is super long, so that is something to look forward to! For those who leave us lovely comments, thank you <3 and we appreciate all of the subs and votes! We seriously look forward to them ^^
> 
> Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: Angst. Anyway-! Yesh, the time has come, dear readers. Soon. Seok breaking is something we love making happen. It’s just… perfect. But yesh, as Meg mentioned, this is just in time for Minseok’s birthday, the darling <33 (At least, her time. Here it’s already tomorrow. Ha, suckers.) We usually update when we finish a new chapter, but not this time, because we love you! (And Seok!) Next chapter would have been more fun to upload today, but eh. Nope. So this will have to do. And I mean, finally we see some of the angst we’ve promised since the very beginning. Lovely, no?
> 
> Eh, yesh. And next chapter is long. As hell. No kidding. ~11.000 words without editing. And 20+ pages on Word. Yup. Fun stuff. We don’t know how that happened (background coughing). Hmm… Yesh. I hope you liked this chapter! Questions? Thoughts? Feedback? (Meg’s comment: Curses for what we’ve done to these beloved characters? (Nat’s comment back: Ironic as hell.)) Comment and let us know! We’ll love you if you do <33
> 
> Lovely readers, we’ll see you for Chapter 6!


	7. A Price For Parents’ Sins Repaid

_Minseok was seven years old when he first saw the crow._

_It had been late February, the snow still stubbornly clinging to the ground even after the storm had long blown through. He had been horribly bored for days, Kou not allowing him any further than the yard. Instead, he had been forced to practice his hand with his reading and writing - a tortuous task, if anyone asked Minseok - and after a few minutes of that, the ability to write his name had lost its appeal. But with the melting of the snow came the freedom he craved. Or as much freedom as a seven year old boy could handle, and he was allowed outside once again._

_He had only wandered far enough to lose sight of the house through the trees, Kou’s warnings to stay close by long forgotten, when he saw it._

_There, in a patch of snow at the base of one of the tall pine trees that grew in the forest, was a crow. Minseok had seen crows many times, the birds seeming to have taken a liking to the area, so the sight of one was not rare. But then again, Minseok had never seen one so close before. The black birds had a habit of staying out of reach of curious little boys, but this one watched him without any sign of fleeing, and Minseok took that as his chance to investigate. He wondered if the crow would allow him close enough to touch those pretty black feathers. Or perhaps, if the bird let him, he could carry it back to show Kou how he had tamed the crow._

_Slowly, he crept forward, eyes glued to the bird as he took cautious steps. He smiled triumphantly when every step closer did nothing to frighten the bird, but soon enough he started to notice something odd about this particular crow. Something was_ different.

_For one, it made no sound. No caw, no cry, nothing. Not even the flap of its wings. And it never looked away, never took in its surroundings. The bird remained still, watching Minseok come closer and closer. If anything, it almost felt like the crow_ wanted _him closer, for reasons the young boy couldn’t quite grasp._

_He had gotten a mere couple of steps away before his determination gave way to hesitation, the bird still unresponsive to his actions. It only sat, watching, and the boy felt a heaviness in his gut as the creature stared at him._

_Minseok no longer wanted to be near the bird. In fact, he didn’t want the bird to be near the cottage at all._

_“Shoo!” Minseok yelled, jumping at the crow with his hands outstretched. He had seen Kou do something similar plenty of times, and every animal he did it to scrambled away. But the bird did nothing but tilt its head, clicking its beak at the movement. Almost a laughing sound, Minseok thought._

_The boy took a step back, and then another, eying the bird warily before turning on his heel and sprinting back to his home, frequently glancing behind him at the creature._

_He didn’t like that bird. Not one bit._

_That night, after Minseok had told Kou of the strange encounter, he had been told everything: The curse that had been placed on him, his status as a royal, the significance of the crow. All of those things were laid out for him to understand, as best as he could, Kou ever patient with the boy’s questions and comments. It would be scary for anyone, but to a child it was horrifyingly similar to all of the nightmares of monsters he had been subject to in his young life._

_He had hardly slept that night, the start of a terrible pattern that always occurred with the crow’s presence._

_Every year after that saw the crow making a visit. Every winter, at the end of February, the crow would make its appearance. The first two times saw the creature only watching, Minseok nervously moving away and running back to Kou for comfort. It was the third time, and every time after that, that the bird spoke. The voice was broken, scratchy and inhuman, but the words were there. Horrible, nasty words. Threats, mostly, and taunts. Things that promised death and pain, despair and loss. And other lines, more poetic in nature, that Minseok began to recognize as his curse._

_After a while, physical contact began to accompany the words, the crow nipping at his shirt collar or pecking at exposed skin. Nothing that cut too deep, mere scratches and the occasional bruise, but it was enough to have Kou worried, inspecting Minseok after every encounter, and enough to have Minseok developing a deep-rooted fear for anything with wings._

_While such words and actions were frightening in nature, and left Minseok frazzled for days after the sighting, by the time he was a teenager he had come to recognize the crow as nothing more than a reminder. His fear, while certainly understandable, was misplaced, driven out of pain. He couldn’t change the curse, so there was no reason to let the bird have any type of power over him, and by his seventeenth year, he could largely ignore the crow. It was creepy, sure, and its beak was sharp against his skin, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle._

_He was eighteen when his fears were validated._

_The crow had not visited that year. January and February came and went without any black feathers or threats called in a warbling voice, and Minseok had allowed himself to hope it was over. He had suffered for years, and it seemed he had finally outgrown the crow lurking in the woods. Perhaps, he had thought gleefully, the bird was finally dead. Kou had warned him to stay cautious, that his eighteenth year could be a big one, but even his guardian had begun to relax. The crow was just not there._

_And on his birthday, despite Kou’s wishes, Minseok had gone out to explore. The woods had been covered in a blanket of snow, an uncommon occurrence at that time of year. Good luck, Kou had said, though Minseok had been rather miffed at the sudden chill that fell over the earth on the days approaching his birthday. But he had to admit, the untouched snow was beautiful as he walked, fresh and pure and crunching beneath his weight._

_He had been gone for hours, letting himself get lost in the forest just for the sake of it, drawn to the feeling of freedom that came with wandering without a destination. He was a smart enough tracker that he knew he could always find his way back, and when the sun began to slip back down towards the horizon - two hours until nightfall, he estimated - he turned back towards home._

_He didn’t make it far before he saw it, the crow waiting in his path._

_Minseok had stopped dead in his tracks, hesitating as he eyed the bird. Maybe it was another, some random black bird that was passing by. But the longer he watched, the more certain he was about it being_ his _crow. He couldn’t help the sigh that left him, because he had been so sure - or at least hopeful - it was over. Weeks without anything had spoiled him. But now it was back, and while he wasn’t terribly surprised, the dread and anger that took a hold of his heart was intense. Of course he was still being watched. Of course he would never be truly free._

_“What do_ you _want?” he muttered bitterly, sneering when the bird only cocked its head to the side. “What? No threats this time?”_

_The crow didn’t respond, and Minseok’s stomach dropped at the silence. This was new. Late, and now quiet. Minseok didn’t like this at all._

_With as much courage as he could muster, he continued forward, giving the bird a wide berth as he passed. The crow never moved from its spot, its eyes following the boy’s movements as Minseok pushed on towards his destination. And that only made the dread worse, worry buzzing in his mind._

_He needed to get home. Kou would want to hear about this. Maybe he would have suggestions for why the bird was acting strangely._

_But he had only walked for a few minutes when he saw the crow again, this time sitting on a branch in a nearby tree, empty black orbs meeting his gaze with an intensity no bird should be able to possess._

_Once again, Minseok hesitated, and once again, there was no sound from the bird as he passed._

_The third time he saw the crow was when Minseok began to run. He was still half an hour from the cottage, and his legs protested the distance in the snow, but he paid no mind to his aching muscles as his chest became tighter with each flash of black feathers he saw. It was always a few steps ahead of him, waiting, guiding him home, and the fear that settled at the base of his skull and ran down his spine was almost debilitating. But he pushed through the fear, telling himself it was only a crow. It was only a bird._

_The sight of the cottage was a welcome relief. Home was familiar, safe, and the smoke rising from the chimney was enough to have him quickening his steps, his breath clouding the air in front of him. But as he pushed through the last surrounding trees and entered the yard, that breath caught in his throat._

_Kou was on the ground._

_He had fallen just outside of the door, his body positioned in a way that made Minseok think he had been trying to get inside. Deep footprints led towards him, some looking almost like he had crawled, carved into the snow like trenches. And he had been carrying firewood, if the scattered logs nearby were any indication, haphazardly dropped and forgotten. But what drew Minseok’s eye was the snow around him, the white powder marred with red. A rich, dark crimson color. The color of blood._

_A shrill caw brought him back, the air entering his lungs in a painful gasp, his wide eyes searching the tree line before landing on the roof. The crow was there, perched on the ridge as it looked at the boy._

_It was here. The crow was_ here. _And Kou was still on the ground._

_With a cry, Minseok took off across the yard towards his guardian, stumbling as he neared. The boy was vaguely aware of the crow’s wings spreading, the bird flying off as he ran towards the other, but he paid no mind. Whether the crow remained or not, the message had been delivered. Now all Minseok could do was face what had been left for him, every step closer weighing heavier than the last._

_He sank to his knees next to Kou, the snow’s icy temperature immediately seeping through his pants. But he was numb to the snow, the chill that enveloped his heart much colder._

_Kou was lying on his back, limbs stretched out to his sides awkwardly. Minseok could smell the metallic, coppery scent of blood now that he was closer, and he nearly retched as the odor assaulted his nose. There was so much blood, in Kou’s clothes, in the snow, staining the man’s ashen skin. Cuts littered his body, some shallow, others nearly to the bone, skin jagged and tattered, but the thing that horrified Minseok the most was his face._

_His eyes were wide, staring up at the sky in frozen surprise as his mouth remained open. As if Kou had been crying out, either in pain or in fear, or a mixture of both. And Minseok’s mind filled with warnings, with cautionary tales of why he should remain near the house. Especially around dark. The sun’s light was nearly gone now. How long had he been away? How long had Kou suffered without anyone to come to his aid? What could have -_

_The cuts were far too deep for a bird to inflict, he realized in horror._

_Minseok reached out a shaking hand, before pulling back, his fingers settling over his mouth instead. His chest burned with heaving breaths as he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears, rocking slightly on his knees as his body tried to curl in on itself._

_There, on Kou’s chest, laid a single black feather, the color untouched, clean of any blood. Pristine._

_He didn’t realize he was screaming until his throat went raw._

-

Eyes snapped open, a choked gasp leaving soft lips as Minseok jolted awake, muscles pulled taut in fear. For a brief, horrifying moment, he couldn’t move, limbs simply refusing to obey his request. The darkness felt too tight around him, shadows grasping at his hair, his legs, his arms, his pants, clawing at his skin, pinning him to the bed, pushing him down.

Then the moment passed, and he threw the damp sheets off and stumbled out of bed, just in time for him to sink to his knees as he heaved. His nails dragged against the floor as he threw up what little he had in his stomach, the majority being bile and water, throat and chest burning and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

It was only after an agonizing minute that his body lost its rigidity. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up again, swaying slightly from the action, vision graying around the edges. His skin was too hot, fever still burning through his body, and he groaned.

It was then he realized that the fire had died, and his breath caught in his throat. He staggered to the fireplace and fumbled with the logs, dropping half of them in his attempt to arrange the wood.

The darkness felt suffocating, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, the air too heavy in his lungs. His hands were shaking, desperation welling up in him as he found himself unable to still them long enough for him to ignite the dry firewood. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled again. He didn’t have time for this. He needed warmth. He needed _light_.

And then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and he jumped so violently that the flint fell from his hand. Minseok cringed at the thud it made when it landed on the floor, but before he could so much as consider reaching for it, there was movement to his left again, and his heartbeat faltered in his chest. Frantically, he looked to the side, but there was nothing save the darkness of his room.

Panic swelled in his gut as a noise - just to his right - reached his ears. Soft, familiar. Like the flutter of wings. And the sound sent ice through his veins, because that shouldn’t be possible. The crow couldn’t be _here with him_. He had locked the door, closed the window. He should be safe.

He looked around, searching, but there was nothing. No signs of the bird. And he tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself that the crow wasn’t here, but the next flap of wings had him cowering, hands flying to his ears in an attempt at keeping the noises out. His eyes darted around the shadows, knowing he’d find nothing, but there was _something_ , hiding away in the dark, waiting. Always waiting. Always watching.

And then there was a caw and Minseok scrambled away from the fireplace, because the sound had been so close, as though the bird were just by his ear. But worse than the caw was the whispering coming from the shadows. Voices. And Minseok desperately wanted to close them out, didn’t want to know what they were saying, but nothing could silence them.

At first, he couldn’t tell the voices apart, but then, slowly, so slowly, did he start to recognize them. The incoherent mumbling slid into words, and Minseok whimpered as Kou’s voice begged him to _please, help me_. And then he heard Junmyeon and Jongdae, pleading with him, and Minseok shook his head to get rid of the voices bombarding him from all sides.

But he couldn’t escape them, or the pleas that began to turn in tone, edged with hysteria. The screams were deafening, and Minseok whined at the noises, because this shouldn’t be happening. But the screams continued, so loud that he had to cover his ears. Relief flooded through him when the cries died out.

When the screaming stopped, however, the accusations began. Harsh and biting and filled with hatred. _You did this. This is your fault._ Every doubt he had ever had after Kou’s death voiced aloud, filling his mind.

Even in the darkness, he could see them. Their bodies, mangled and broken and covered in blood, sightless eyes somehow finding his form as they spoke. _Where were you?_ they asked. _Why weren’t you there to save us?_ And Minseok couldn’t respond, couldn’t move as he watched them shift in the shadows.

And the sight of feathers, falling slowly and covering their bodies, like pure snow. He saw himself, sitting amidst the bodies, hands and face bloodied, eyes wide, and Minseok once again shook his head, _no no no_ leaving his lips like a mantra. Hurriedly, he brought his shaking hands up to inspect them, turning them around, and when he saw no blood, he almost sobbed in relief.

But then he looked back at the bodies, at himself, and he felt tears well up in his eyes, because it was his fault. Kou was dead because of him, and Junmyeon, and Jongdae… All because of him. Everyone he loved would be taken away from him.

He pushed a hand through his hair, only to catch the overwhelming odor of blood, the warm stickiness that clung to his skin. In a flash, he had his hands in front of him again, and the nausea from earlier returned, threatening to make him sick once more.

Red. His hands were covered in red.

It was with a terrified whimper that he looked up again and saw his own self, meeting the gaze that seemed to tear him down.

“No…” he whispered, begged, eyes searching his own in desperation. As if hoping the other version of himself would smile and shake his head, tell him he wasn’t at fault. But the man only stared, his own features twisted in the same judgment that marred the others’ faces. “Please, no…”

There were more noises, caws, voices, echoing in his head, and he stared, horrified, when the bodies were suddenly moving.

Towards him.

Screeching noises reached his ears as the bodies approached him, crawling over the floor, and he struggled to get back on his feet, scrambling away, until he could get no further, his back pressed against the walls of the corner he had reached. His chest was heaving, breathing coming out in terrified whines.

The bodies weren’t deterred. They continued their advance, coming closer and closer.

And then, for a moment, nothing was there, Minseok’s ears straining to hear anything over his ragged breaths. Then the barest of touches slid down his face, like a finger trailed over his cheek, and he shrieked, jerking away from the sensation.

There were hands on him, pulling at him, trying to drag him back into the shadows. And that was when he started to scream, lashing out at nothing, begging them to leave him alone.

He could taste the faintest trace of salt on his lips, tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Sobs racked through his body and left through his mouth, and he covered his ears, shaking his heads as he screamed at the shadows.

“ _Stop!_ ”

The plea was raw, guttural in tone, and it only grew more so with every cry, desperation mounting with every grab and tug from invisible hands. But no matter how much he begged, how loud he cried, how hard he fought to pull away, it didn’t stop.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he buried his face in his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible, as small as his fear made him feel. Whispered, broken pleas, choked sobs, still fell from his lips now and then when a noise sounded particularly close, when he felt what he swore was a brush of a finger or a feather against his bare skin, when his mind refused to see anything but bloodied bodies in pure snow.

In the dark, all Minseok could do was wait for daybreak.

-

If nothing else, Jongdae considered himself an optimist.

In the worst of situations, the stable hand could always find the bright side, even if the bright side were horribly outweighed by the bad. He could always find something, anything, to hold onto for hope, to use as a life line.

And when that didn’t work, he knew how to fake it.

Even when he didn’t readily believe that everything was okay - some situations required a little more effort to return to normal - he found the power of suggestion worked. He could tell himself it would be fine, screw his smile into place, and face the world with light steps and cheerful words, and eventually, his heart would begin to believe him. It was simple. Almost too easy.

Today, for example, he had used such optimism with Junmyeon. The prince had found him before sunrise, disheveled and exhausted from an obvious lack of sleep, a noticeably more alert Yixing just behind him, followed by a sleepy Yifan. The latter seemed to have tagged along rather than having been invited, if Yixing’s scowl were any indication. But Yifan was never one to be left out of the loop if he could help it, and regardless of how he came to find Jongdae, he had. Besides, both he and Yixing were just as involved as Jongdae and Junmyeon, their identities also exposed by yesterday’s events.

And Junmyeon, bless him, did exactly what Jongdae expected him to do. He requested they go to Xiumin that very instant, so overwhelmed with the urge to make sure everything was alright between them and the newest addition to their circle of friends. He had no doubt kept himself up all night, tossing and turning and worrying himself half to death about Xiumin’s reaction. True to his personality, Junmyeon could not let it lie as it was, not when he felt like he had something to set right. And with the man being ill, he certainly saw the visit as a necessary one.

But Jongdae had only smiled, shaking his head as he patted the prince on the shoulder. As much as he knew Junmyeon was only doing what he thought was right, Jongdae knew it was not the best thing for Xiumin today.

Though Jongdae had not thought of Junmyeon’s title in a very long time, having come to know the man beneath the crown, he could still remember how he had felt when he first met the prince. He had been but a boy, then, and the idea of a member of the royal family speaking to him was intimidating, even if that member were just as young as he was. It had taken a while for Jongdae to get past the gap in their status. And he figured Xiumin, already insecure in his relationship with others from years of isolation, was feeling much the same.

But Jongdae was not a royal. Jongdae was just Jongdae.

Yixing had caught onto the stable hand’s thoughts quickly, nodding in agreement. It would be best for him to go alone. He was the one who was most equal in standings with the other, and would be the least imposing of the four. This would give Junmyeon a chance to rest, and give Xiumin another day to wrap his head around the information he had just learned.

The advisor had seemed to think something else, as well, eyeing Jongdae curiously as Junmyeon tried in vain to change the stable hand’s mind. Something was in his gaze as he looked Jongdae over, before he began insisting that Junmyeon stay behind for his lessons. Whatever it was, he never voiced.

Yifan, unfortunately, was not as quiet with his thoughts, and teased him relentlessly about “ _trouble in paradise_ ” and the best way to fix such _issues_ , complete with a wink that had no business being on the man’s face when he had all but been mooning over Zitao the previous week as the guard had gone through his morning workout routine.

He had laughed it off, bidding the group farewell with a mock salute before heading off to the woods, but now that he was out of the presence of others, the smile he had worn was deflated a bit, his heart a little heavier in thought.

Part of him disregarded Yifan’s words with little hesitation - the young lord could not help himself, really, when it came to an opportunity to tease - while the other part was aware of there being some truth to the jests. He had initially been drawn to Xiumin by curiosity alone, fascinated by the man who seemed to be shrouded in mystery. A riddle for him to solve. But the more he discovered, the more he was intrigued. Pretty soon, it wasn’t the challenge that held his attention, but Xiumin himself.

And he knew the similarities he had found in their pasts only fueled his desire to learn more, but it wasn’t just that, either. It was the way Xiumin easily slipped into teasing Junmyeon, fond and light and lacking any heat. It was in the way he took his time in choosing his words, alway cautious, but honest. And it was in the way Xiumin had reached for him back at the cottage, when Jongdae had been unsure of how to comfort him after such a lie had been revealed. The touch, though small, was beyond significant, because Xiumin never initiated contact, having spent his life avoiding others. But he had initiated it then, if only briefly, because he knew what it would mean to Jongdae.

He was in much deeper than he had realized, but Jongdae couldn’t find it in himself to fight it. Xiumin had proven to be one of the only people he had ever had difficulty reading, but as long as the other man would have him, he would continue to try.

As he got closer to the cottage, Jongdae found himself becoming more anxious. The optimism that he had been clinging to since yesterday was ebbing away, leaving him with a pang of worry in his chest. And while he wanted to credit the feeling to the rocky ground that surrounded Xiumin’s opinions of their group of friends, he knew this was something else. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t convince himself that things were fine when in reality, things felt off. Like something had shifted.

He was started to act like Yixing, he thought with a snort. Paranoid and worried over nothing.

But even if he felt silly, he pushed himself to walk a little faster, feet crunching through the snow in steady strides. The sooner he got to Xiumin, the sooner he could get rid of this useless worry.

When the cottage came into view, however, the odd feeling was back. There was no smoke from the chimney, a rarity for any home at this time of year; there hadn’t been a fire for a while, if the lack of the smell was any indication. But Jongdae made note of the time, the sun just starting its ascent, throwing the sky into glorious shades of amber and rose. Minseok might not be awake, if he were still fighting his fever, and therefore could not have started the fire back, had it gone out in the night. He could assist in the starting of a new fire, he assured himself, though the tightness in his chest didn’t fade as he settled in front of the door.

He hesitated in his knock, cautious in waking the other man up. But after standing in the cold for a few seconds, he figured he could just add it to the list of things he would be apologizing for today, and let his fist fall sharply against the door.

Only there was no sound on the other side, the cottage quiet and the door remaining shut. Jongdae frowned, pulling his coat tighter around him, and knocked once more, louder this time.

“Xiumin?”

If he hadn’t been listening, he was sure he would have missed the small sound on the other side of the door, muffled by the thick wood that stood as a barrier. But Jongdae had been straining, hoping for any slight response, and the sound that reached him was loud enough for him to recognize.

A sob, desperate and weak. And distinctly Xiumin’s voice.

Except it wasn’t the voice he had come to associate with the other man. It wasn’t the light but strong tenor, clear and rich in tone. What it was was broken, hoarse, and it had Jongdae banging on the door with more force.

“Xiu? Are you alright?”

The silence that met him was much harsher than he expected, and broke the last of his resolve to let Xiumin let him in on his own terms.

He kneeled quickly, untying the lock pick from the inside of his boot and pulling the old tool out of its place. He was not always proud of the things he had done as a child to survive when his parents had died, but he readily admitted the skills he honed came in handy at times. Lock picking was one of them. And he thanked every hardship he had endured that led to him carrying his pick around, lest he would have been trapped outside right now.

The lock on Xiumin’s door was old, much older than any in the city, and he knew the best way to break it would be to literally _break_ it, smash it apart. But he had spent years learning how to unlock doors discretely, and he’d rather not leave Xiumin completely defenseless. So he set to work, hands steady as he kept one ear to the door, partly out of hearing the telltale click of the lock and partly to see if Xiumin would cry out again.

When the lock’s bolt finally slid out of place, he tucked the pick back into his boot and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The cottage was nearly as cold as it was outside, and he shivered at the loss of the sunlight, the room thrown into darkness without the fire. But he couldn’t focus on the cold for long when he realized Xiumin was not in his bed.

Panic filled Jongdae’s gut when he didn’t see the man anywhere, and he called again.

“Xiumin?”

A whimper, and the sound of shuffling, clumsy thumps of limbs against wood, and Jongdae’s eyes found the other man easily.

The room was mostly intact, save the blankets hanging half off of his bed and the firewood no longer stacked neatly in the corner. But even if everything else were seemingly unbroken, Xiumin looked downright shattered, curled in the corner furthest from the door. He was practically unclothed, except for the linen pants he wore, and his body shivered uncontrollably as he tried to push himself further away from Jongdae, head completely covered by his arms.

“My God,” Jongdae muttered sharply, starting forward. “Xiumin…”

He was intending to pull the man up, but as he neared, boots loud against the wooden floor, Xiumin cried out.

“No, please! Leave me alone!”

“Xiu, it’s me,” Jongdae started, “It’s Jongdae.” But when Jongdae reached towards him, the other man lashed out blindly, his hand catching him on the wrist and drawing a hiss from the stable hand at the sudden pain.

The keen that left Xiumin hurt Jongdae far worse than the slight smarting sting in his wrist.

“Please, I beg you!” Xiumin whined, his voice edged in tears as he took heaving breaths. “I didn’t mean to do this!”

Jongdae fell quiet at the words, confused as he watched Xiumin tremble against the wall. Sweat dotted his hairline, despite the cold, and Jongdae groaned softly. His fever. It had not broken.

“Xiu?” he called softly, hating the way the other flinched at his voice. “Xiu, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Shadows,” Xiumin whispered, barely loud enough for Jongdae to hear.

The fire. It was the only way he was going to get the darkness out of the room. Jongdae’s heart ached at the sight of the man so visibly upset. But he couldn’t let him lie here in the cold. He had to get him into bed. He had to get a fire going.

“Hang on,” he murmured, moving towards the fireplace. He grabbed an armful of logs, arranging them quickly and reaching for the flint that Junmyeon had bought the other. It lay abandoned on the floor, and Jongdae wondered if Xiumin had been trying to start the fire back when his fever overtook him. The logs were cold, and his heart lurched against his ribs. How long had he been sitting against that damn wall?

It took him only a moment to get a spark, and the comforting sound of wood popping under the heat made him smile with a brief sense of accomplishment. But then he was moving back to Xiumin, deliberately slow, much slower than he would have liked.

Jongdae had done this before, this cautious attempt to calm down a distressed individual, but only with horses. But the longer he looked at Xiumin, the firmer his determination became. He had to do something to get him off of the floor.

He spoke in a low, soothing voice, knowing anything else would only frighten the man more.

“Xiumin? We need to get you into bed.”

When he got no response, he inched closer, now kneeling just in front of the other. He was reluctant to put himself there, knowing Xiumin might feel cornered with nowhere to go, but if it got Xiumin to calm down faster as a result, he would do it.

Carefully, he reached out his hand, his fingers just barely making contact with Xiumin’s arm. The touch startled Xiumin, and he struck out again, nearly pushing Jongdae back.

“No,” the man protested faintly, tucking himself further into the wall, and Jongdae sighed. The touch was brief, but it was enough to feel the heat rising from his skin. He was running out of options, and he feared allowing Xiumin to lie in the floor for much longer would only make things worse for his health. Sometimes, a little bit of force was necessary. He cursed under his breath, knowing Xiumin was not going to like this at all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before reaching forward again, this time pulling Xiumin towards him with the movement, until Xiumin was practically in his lap.

Xiumin fought the hold, as expected, and yelled at the action. He was stronger than Jongdae on most occasions, but fever had weakened him just enough for Jongdae to gain a decent advantage. But that didn’t make it any easier. Xiumin bucked, twisting his body this way and that as he tried to break free of the stable hand’s grip, begging to be let go. He swung his arm and managed to catch Jongdae on the chin, hard enough that Jongdae could taste the tang of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue.

With difficulty, Jongdae managed to wrench the man’s arms down to his sides, wrapping Xiumin tightly in his own and pulling him into his chest. The sobs had turned into screams, and Jongdae quickly tried to get through to the other man, voice soothing even as he tried to get over the frightened sounds coming from the other.

“Xiumin, stop! You’re safe!”

“No, the curse…” Xiumin sobbed, thrashing in Jongdae’s hold. “Everyone’s dead.”

Xiumin continued to cry out, the words slipping into hysteria, and Jongdae brought a hand up to cup the base of the other man’s skull, forcing him to look up with a gentle but firm touch. He had to calm him. He had to show him that everything was okay, that nothing, _no one_ , was going to hurt him.

“Xiumin, look at me.”

It was the first time he had really _seen_ the man’s face since he arrived, and it made his heart leap into his throat. His features were drawn, paled with illness and fear, and his eyes, though looking at Jongdae, were blown wide with terror.

“It’s only me,” Jongdae whispered, his thumb trying to soothe the skin of Xiumin’s neck, trying to rub the tension out of the muscles. “It’s only me, Xiumin. I swear to you, you are _safe_.”

Xiumin’s breath was still too fast, too shallow, but as Jongdae watched, his eyes softened just the slightest bit, coming into focus.

“Ch-” he started, before correcting himself, voice scratchy and faint. “Jongdae?”

The stable hand smiled encouragingly, nodding quickly, and the relief that flooded Xiumin’s face pulled a quiet gasp from his lips.

“I thought…” Xiumin continued, licking his lips as his face scrunched in confusion. “The crow, I -”

His eyes closed, a pitiful sound leaving him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jongdae shushed him, pulling him to his chest again. “It’s alright. But we must get you to bed.”

With more strength than he thought he possessed, Jongdae lifted them both from the floor, half carrying, half supporting Xiumin as they crossed the distance to the bed. He could feel Xiumin’s fingers twisting into the material of his shirt, each step nearly sending him back to the floor, and it terrified Jongdae. He had never seen the man so broken, and he hoped he would never see it again.

Without a second thought, he slid into the bed, pulling Xiumin down gently with him until the other was laying half on top of him, curled into his side and head tucked under Jongdae’s chin. The fact that Xiumin said nothing against the amount of contact was a testimony in itself to just how vulnerable he truly was. Jongdae stayed quiet, though, letting his hand rub soothing paths along the other’s back, willing him to calm down and rest.

It wasn’t until the other man had long been asleep, his body relaxed and having finally stopped shaking against his side, that Jongdae pulled himself away. A more difficult task than he expected, but a necessary one. The fire needed tending.

He made himself useful, tidying the place up as Xiumin slept, checking on him frequently as he worked. He restacked the logs, adjusted the bedding, cleaned up a spot on the floor that appeared to be evidence to Xiumin’s sickness affecting his stomach, and put the flint back on the desk. Some of the figurines had toppled over, he noticed, and he was halfway through arranging them when he realized the crow from yesterday was missing among the carvings. Xiumin had mentioned a crow, and something about a curse, when he was still trapped in his feverish state. But the thought was fleeting, at best, Jongdae too lost in his mind for the missing crow and the murmured words to make much of an impression.

They should have stayed. _He_ should have stayed. They had been so worried about overwhelming Xiumin that they had allowed their own hesitations to drive them away from the cottage. But if they were looking to avoid Xiumin being thrown into panic, they had obviously missed the mark.

It was the fever, he knew. His illness had warped, burning through him in the form of nightmares that bled into reality, and Jongdae knew it was foolish and self-centered to think he had anything to do with that. But he still felt like this could have all been avoided, and if not, at least he could have stopped it _sooner._

When had it started? Had he been plagued by these terrors all night? Had he gotten any sleep at all?

Though such fever-driven dreams were tough to shake, Jongdae was certain it would have been easier with someone there to help guide him through it. Instead, Xiumin had been left to his own mind, and suffered for it.

Sometime around late noon, Xiumin’s fever broke. But he still slept, exhausted, and Jongdae remained close by. He had woken him only twice to help him drink some water, but other than that he had sat and kept the fire burning, kept the shadows away.

When a hand fell to his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts in a dramatic fashion, he had nearly taken the person’s hand off. Until, of course, he realized it was Junmyeon. The prince, having slipped away from the others - he was far too good at that - had come alone with a pouch of fresh food. But upon seeing the expression that Jongdae wore, the food had been forgotten, and concerns were voiced.

After a brief account, in which Jongdae had condensed the fear and cries and pain into a simple “ _he succumbed to fever hallucinations_ ”, Junmyeon was just as guilt-ridden as he was. They shouldn’t have left. And when Junmyeon voiced his agreement, Jongdae made the decision he had been toying with for hours.

He would not leave Xiumin tonight. He would stay, tend to the fire, make sure his fever was completely broken. And Junmyeon looked ready to fight to stay as well, until Xiumin stirred in the bed. They had only been whispering, but the sound seemed to be enough to rouse Xiumin, who glanced at them with a groggy expression before lifting a hand in a small wave. Jongdae could feel himself tense, unsure of what Xiumin’s reaction would be, but he only made a soft comment about Junmyeon trying to kill him with gluttony, gesturing to the bag that remained untouched, and the air in the room melted into familiarity.

To his credit, Xiumin took the news of Jongdae’s intent to stay much better than he expected. He had only frowned, protesting that it was unnecessary, but gave in when Jongdae insisted. Junmyeon, however, would leave, and Jongdae could only smile when Xiumin readily agreed with his logic. It would be dark in a few hours. He would need to head on. After all, while Jongdae’s disappearance for the night would be met with some minor worry, Junmyeon’s would be met with massive searches, and nobody needed such a fuss at the moment.

Regardless, Junmyeon was adamant he would be back the next morning, first thing, and Xiumin allowed him that bit of power. They would talk then, the oldest had muttered, and the smile that went with that sentence looked wrong to Jongdae. But he watched as Junmyeon smiled in return, either oblivious or very good at pretending he was, clasping the man’s hand in his before bidding both Xiumin and Jongdae farewell.

Xiumin’s fever did not come back, but that did not stop Jongdae from claiming a side of his bed anyways, determined to share his warmth with the man should the fire go out again. Xiumin didn’t fight the decision, even tossing an arm around Jongdae’s waist as he settled in, this time Jongdae being pulled against him, Xiumin’s chest pressing into his back. Not a word was said, but the position felt a lot like gratitude, like the man was thanking him for staying, and Jongdae wrapped a warm hand around the man’s forearm in reassurance. He wouldn’t leave. Not again.

Jongdae spent half the night listening to Xiumin breathe, before heavy eyes could no longer watch the flickering of the fire and gave in to sleep.

-

Jongdae could see the difference in Xiumin the minute he woke up.

When he had pulled himself from sleep, Xiumin had already left the bed, seated in front of the fire. He was lost in thought, it seemed, flipping the flint over and over again between his fingers, and Jongdae took a moment just to watch the flames bouncing across his skin. The glow of the fire made him look healthier, or perhaps that was due to the fever breaking. But either way his eyes looked clearer, sharper, even if his body held onto some of the sickness from the past couple of days, a little leaner than it had been days ago. A few more days of rest, Jongdae guessed, and he would be back to his normal self.

But the tension in his shoulders told another story. He was stiff, muscles tight, and Jongdae didn’t like it. The nightmares were gone, and Xiumin should be more at ease, but he wasn’t. And Jongdae couldn’t think of a reason that didn’t revolve around Junmyeon and himself.

When Jongdae cleared his throat, making a show of sitting up in the bed as to not startle the other man, Xiumin sent him a soft smile. But the rest of the time was quiet between them, Jongdae trying to catch his eye and Xiumin adamantly looking away. Any touch shared between them was small, without any lingering comfort, and Jongdae could feel him slipping away from the openness they had mere hours ago. While he expected it, it still stung a bit more than he thought it would.

It only got worse when Junmyeon arrived, the prince’s smile tight when Xiumin half-heartedly greeted him. And as they sat around the table - or rather, Junmyeon and Xiumin at the table, and Jongdae perched on the edge of the bed - Jongdae was nearly ready to tear his hair out at the tension.

But then Xiumin spoke.

“I have a confession,” he said in a flat tone, as if the words were as mundane as the weather. When Junmyeon and Jongdae remained quiet, he continued. “I’ve been a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Oh?” Junmyeon asked, and Jongdae smiled despite the circumstances, amused at the nonchalance Junmyeon had tried to put into his response, when the stable hand could clearly see the man’s interest in his features.

“When you told me who you were,” Xiumin continued, “I was upset.”

“Naturally,” Junmyeon agreed. “Anyone would be upset at such a lie.”

Xiumin chuckled at the words, and it sounded horribly forced to Jongdae’s ears. “Well, I guess it is your turn to be upset.”

Jongdae froze at the response, his eyes locked on Xiumin as the older man took a deep breath. He didn’t look at anyone as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the table, and Jongdae was struck by the similarities to what had happened two days prior.

“Xiu?” he called, softly, and the older man looked over his shoulder, but still not at Jongdae, his eyes falling just to the side. He shook his head with a sad smile.

“‘Xiumin’, much like ‘Suho’ and ‘Chen’, is only an alias,” he muttered. “My name is Minseok.”

“Minseok?” Junmyeon repeated, his voice breathless as his eyes widened.

“Yes,” the other said with a nod. He turned back to Junmyeon, his eyes finally lifting to look at the prince. “Kim Minseok.”

Junmyeon’s expression flicked from confusion to utter shock, paling as he searched the other man’s eyes. But when he spoke, it was firm. A denial.

“No.”

“Jun?” Jongdae called, but the prince didn’t spare him a look, his focus on Xiumin. Or rather, on _Minseok_.

“No, you are not,” Junmyeon continued. “You cannot be… It is impossible.”

“Please,” Minseok started, “let me explain.”

“They told me you were dead,” he countered, and Jongdae couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“What is going on?” he asked, looking between the men. But neither paid him any mind, lost in their own conversation.

“I’m surprised they told you at all,” Minseok replied frankly. “I didn’t know of _your_ existence until you told me yourself.”

“Why?” Junmyeon asked, and now Jongdae could hear the anger in his words. He watched as the prince rose from the table, shaking his head. “Why would they -”

“For the same reason you hid your identity, and the same reason I hid mine,” Minseok answered. “For protection.”

Jongdae didn’t understand. What did Junmyeon know that he didn’t? What piece was he missing in understanding just what exactly was going on? He was shocked at Minseok’s words, yes, but Junmyeon was practically shaking with anger, and Jongdae had no idea what could have driven him to be so upset.

“Protection?” Junmyeon bit out, waving a hand towards the surroundings. “We are in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly hurt you?”

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae tried, standing up from the bed. It was all escalating so quickly, and he felt the urge to diffuse the situation. “You need to calm yourself.”

“Calm myself?” Junmyeon scoffed, his gaze slipping to Jongdae. “Do you know who he is, Jongdae? Who _Kim Minseok_ is?”

Jongdae shook his head, because no; besides what he knew of “Xiumin”, he knew nothing of Kim Minseok. Though he assumed they were one in the same, just like he was with “Chen”, and just like Junmyeon was with “Suho”. A name did not change the person’s personality. But obviously, the prince thought differently.

“My _brother_ ,” Junmyeon said, and Minseok flinched at the words as if he had been struck. “He is my older brother. Whom, might I add, I was told had died.”

Jongdae fell silent, stunned at the information, because _that_ was a difference. This was not some low ranked subject living in the woods, but _royalty._ Minseok was a member of the royal family, and the thought of having shared a bed with him had heat crawling up the back of Jongdae’s neck, because even if he were on good terms with Junmyeon, he had never been so _intimately_ close to him. He shook the embarrassment away, ashamed of himself as he reminded him that this was still the man who they had befriended months ago and he had done nothing wrong, but the words still refused to gather in coherent sentences in his mind as he stared at Minseok’s back. But even if he had been able to speak, Minseok would have cut him off.

“Junmyeon, _please_ ,” Minseok interjected. “It was not my decision. I didn’t know I even had a brother until I learned of your name.” He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath as he did so. “I’ve been in hiding since my birth. All of this was meant to keep me safe.”

“From what?” Junmyeon demanded in exasperation, leaning over the table.

Minseok hesitated, Jongdae watching as he came to a decision.

“A curse,” he said gently. “On my twenty-fourth birthday, I am cursed to die.”

“You cannot be cursed,” Junmyeon insisted immediately. “Magic was banned from our kingdom long before either of us were born.” Minseok readily agreed.

“Yes, it was. But just because something is banned does not mean others will not do it.”

“How long?” the stable hand spoke then, his voice piercing the silence, and Minseok answered honestly.

“A little more than a month’s time.”

Jongdae’s heart seized in his chest, a gasp lodging in his throat, and he watched as Minseok ducked his head at the noise, almost as if in guilt. He could see Junmyeon fared no better with the information, holding the table with a white-knuckled grip.

Minseok let out a heavy sigh, looking at Junmyeon with desperation. “Please. Sit down, and I will tell you everything.”

Jongdae could see the fear, the uncertainty, in Junmyeon’s eyes, and then the prince was shaking his head. Before the stable hand could act, Junmyeon had turned back towards the door, storming out into the snow as the door shut heavily behind him. Minseok called out to him, standing and moving to follow, but Jongdae was quick to stop the other man.

“Let him go,” Jongdae said quietly. “He’s upset. But as much as he acts like it, he’s not stupid. He’ll come back soon.”

Minseok seemed ready to fight him on that, but eventually lowered himself back into his seat, eyes never leaving the door.

It was silent, for a while, Jongdae sliding easily into the seat Junmyeon had occupied before. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the older man, his mind drawing connections he could have missed. The slight similarities - and he meant _slight_ \- in their appearances. The stubbornness they shared. But even if he had picked up on things earlier, he would have never guessed this, _could_ never have guessed they were brothers. Or that Minseok would be cursed.

But he reminded himself, _again_ , that this was still the same man he had shared a bed with the night before, the same one he had cared for, the same one who saved them months prior. So he did what he always did. Tried to fill in the pieces.

“You mentioned a curse yesterday,” he began, meeting Minseok’s gaze when the other finally looked at him, “when you were feverish. Were you talking about the one that was placed on you?”

Minseok paused, glancing at the door again. Jongdae knew he was still thinking of Junmyeon, of whether or not they should wait to have this conversation when they were all present, but whatever held him back relented underneath Jongdae’s gaze.

“Yes. It was the same.”

Jongdae wet his lips. “A long time ago, you said fate was here for you, in the woods, away from the city,” he continued. “Is that why you tried to push us away?”

“In part, yes,” Minseok hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Isolation meant I didn’t have to say goodbye.”

“That seems awfully pessimistic,” Jongdae said, the words far too teasing for the situation, but Minseok couldn’t fight the smile, even if it were slightly bitter.

“I didn’t want to get close to others. I’ve felt the pain of losing someone. I was not ready to cause someone else the same suffering.”

“But now that Junmyeon knows you are his brother, it will hurt far worse,” Jongdae said, before adding, “Now that _we_ know…”

It hurt. A lot. This man in front of him was important to them, to Jongdae, and to know he would now lose him to something none of them could control… It was like a stab to the heart. Or maybe, more accurately, the side. The heart would be too quick, too merciful. This was more like a wound that would bleed for a while before leading to death. Slow. Painful.

“I never intended on telling you,” Minseok mumbled, covering his face with his hands before letting them fall back to the table. “But after you mentioned the crow -”

“What significance does the crow have?” Jongdae asked, using his curiosity to distract himself from the emptiness that had settled in his chest.

“The sorcerer who cursed me goes by the name Crow,” Minseok answered, “and every year, I am visited by the same damned bird. I had thought it only served to mock me, repeating the curse to me and taunting me, sometimes even physically striking out, but it…”

“It what?” Jongdae pushed when Minseok trailed off.

“I’ve only ever had one person in my life,” Minseok continued, “and that was Kou, my guardian. On my eighteenth birthday, he was taken away from me. The crow was there, led me to him.”

He gestured toward Jongdae with an open hand, his brow pulled together. “You said you saw it. It never shows itself to anyone but me. Never. But it showed itself to you and Junmyeon, the same day you told me your real names.”

Jongdae stared at him, taking in the information quietly, letting the words fall into place in his mind. When he spoke again, it was not a question, but a statement.

“You think it has laid claim on me and Junmyeon.”

“Exactly,” Minseok confirmed. “Because of me, you are now in danger.”

“Because of a sorcerer,” Jongdae corrected, holding the other’s gaze firmly. “None of this sounds like your fault. If anything, it is us who forced ourselves into your life.”

“I let you in,” Minseok countered. “And look what came of it. Lies and pain and death.”

Jongdae reached forward then, laying a hand over the other’s forearm. He had been trying to keep his distance, trying to give the man his own space, but he could only take so much. Minseok was hurting, and contact, however small, would still be enough to remind him that Jongdae was still there. And when words failed, this did not.

Minseok refused to look at him, but Jongdae continued anyways.

“No one is dead yet,” he said softly. “And it is going to take a lot more than some stupid crow to scare us away.”

Minseok smiled, the expression too sad for Jongdae’s liking, but it was a start.

“What now?” he asked, and Jongdae gave a shrug.

“We wait for Junmyeon.”

-

Junmyeon wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he had to go _somewhere_ , before he completely lost his mind.

He hadn’t been walking for long when he came to a halt and slid down to sit on a rock, burying his face in his palms. He knew he hadn’t gotten that far away from the cottage, either from the cold that nipped at his skin or a reluctance to leave too much distance between himself and the others, but it was far enough to get himself some air. To make sure he could have the time, the quiet, necessary to absorb the new information. Because as much as Junmyeon thought he could handle pressure, he didn’t know how to handle _this_. He didn’t know how to handle knowing he, despite all that he had been told, had a brother.

No. The word was still too new, too foreign a concept.

His brother had died, they had said. He had died from birth, before Junmyeon even got the chance to meet him, to know him. And he had come to terms with that, accepted it from a young age. But now, Xiumin, _Minseok,_ suddenly revealed himself to be Junmyeon’s older brother.

He had gone twenty-two years thinking his brother was dead, when, in reality, he had been just a few hours away. Minseok had been _this close_ , and Junmyeon hadn’t known.

Had his parents known? Had they lied to him all this time? How many others knew?

Junmyeon would have hoped his parents had not kept Minseok a secret for Junmyeon, that they had not lied to him. He _trusted_ his parents not to keep such a thing from him. If Minseok spoke the truth, and he was his brother, Junmyeon was entitled to know that. He had a _right_ to know that his _older brother_ was alive.

For now.

Distraught, Junmyeon gripped at his hair, fighting back the urge to scream, lash out, or just break down, because it would be so _simple_ to shatter instead of trying to hold himself together. What was there to keep him from breaking? All that he had known, every foundation, had collapsed underneath him.

And on top of it all, Minseok was going to die. A curse would take him from Junmyeon just when he had learned of his existence, just when they had found one another. How could fate be so cruel? Minseok was a friend. Minseok was _his brother,_ and he would die.

A chill ran down Junmyeon’s back, and he distractedly reached for a twig on the ground, fiddling with it as he lost himself in thoughts.

What if Minseok had kept quiet, had never said a word about the curse? What if he had died without them knowing? What if they had found him in the cottage, his body grown cold?

What if they had never found him at all?

The twig in his hands snapped, and Junmyeon stared at it, swallowing dryly.

The realization that Minseok would - _could_ , Junmyeon corrected himself quickly - die was already enough to bring tears to the prince’s eyes, but the idea of Minseok dying alone was what pushed those emotions to the edge and over.

No one deserved to be alone, especially not in their last moments. Those last breaths were reserved for the people around them, to assure that they were loved, that they would be missed, that they were never alone, not even in this. Junmyeon could think of nothing more heartbreaking or terrifying than to leave this life with no one by your side, and to think that Minseok could have met such a fate had him sobbing into his hands.

Junmyeon didn’t understand anything that was happening. He didn’t understand why Minseok was cursed. He didn’t understand why he was fated to have found him so close to the day he was set to die. And he didn’t understand why Jongdae and Minseok had seemed so calm when it felt like his chest was about to burst.

How could Minseok speak of his impending death like he had already come to accept it? How could Jongdae tell Junmyeon to _calm down_? Everything was falling apart, and yet it was only Junmyeon who seemed to feel that way.

He just _didn’t understand._

He had taken to snapping twigs he found on the ground in his hands, the urge to fiddle with something too strong to ignore. It was pointless, thoughtless, and yet he did it anyways. Like breaking twigs in two would somehow calm him, would somehow fix everything. Like breaking twigs would be as easy as breaking the curse on Minseok, the seconds stealing away the other’s life as Junmyeon sat there, doing absolutely nothing but mourn the agonies of fate and destroy twigs as he did so.

But sitting there would not fix anything.

Magic was a strong force, Junmyeon knew, even if he had never seen it for himself, but he would be damned if he let a curse stop him from at least _trying_. He had never been one to give in so easily, and now it was a matter of life or death, his _brother’s_ life being on the line.

What was Junmyeon doing out here, crying over something that had yet to happen? He could not grieve a man who wasn’t dead, and Minseok wouldn’t die. Not if Junmyeon had a say in it.

There was still time to save his brother from the curse. There was still time to _act_.

And there was no _way_ he would let Minseok be alone, counting the days until his approaching demise with a sad acceptance.

He threw away the twig in his hand as he rose from the rock, absently wondering how long he’d been gone as he trudged back through the snow towards the cottage with a new fire in his eyes.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the small cottage, and when he stepped inside, warmth enveloping him, two pairs of eyes immediately turned to him, the soft chatter fading as they regarded him with some caution.

There was quiet for a short moment, before Junmyeon broke it, his voice soft as he spoke.

“Minseok, when is your birthday?”

Minseok frowned at the unexpected question, but answered, “The twenty-sixth of March.”

Junmyeon nodded to himself, pursing his lips in thought. A month, Minseok had said. He had a month to break a curse he knew nothing about.

“What kind of curse is it?”

Minseok blinked. “The curse?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon insisted firmly. “Tell me about it. I need to know what is said.”

“Why would you need to know that?” Minseok asked, the words tinged with confusion, though Jongdae, Junmyeon noted, had leaned forward, the slightest hope evident in his features as he listened to the prince.

“If we are going to break it, we need to know. A transcription would be ideal.”

“Nothing can be done,” Minseok said, his voice resigned, tired in tone. “Trust me when I tell you I have already tried. The curse cannot be broken, Junmyeon.”

“ _You_ may have tried,” Jongdae cut in with a small smile, “but we haven’t had a go at it. Perhaps fresh eyes could find an answer your tired ones couldn’t. Also, there are books back at the castle we can refer to for help.”

Minseok was already shaking his head before Jongdae had finished speaking. “No,” he said firmly, almost harshly. “Absolutely not. You will not get involved in this.”

“Do you honestly think that I will let you do this your way, _brother_?” Junmyeon asked, and Minseok winced. “That _we_ will let you?” he added with a glance towards Jongdae, who was watching Minseok, before his gaze once again settled on Minseok.

“Let us help, Minseok,” Jongdae coaxed. “You don’t have to fight this on your own.”

“Yes, I do,” Minseok shot back. “Crow has made sure of that more than once.”

“Crow?” Junmyeon asked, and when Minseok remained silent, Jongdae spoke up.

“The sorcerer who cursed him,” the stable hand said softly, sending Minseok an apologetic look when the older man frowned.

“It does not matter who he is,” Minseok stated firmly, shaking his head. “You already know more than you should.”

“But we must know it all,” Jongdae countered, his gaze pleading as he leaned closer to the other man. “If what you said is true, and the crow is laying a claim on our lives, wouldn’t it benefit us to know what we’re up against? To know what to look for?”

Junmyeon saw how Minseok hesitated, and quickly added to Jongdae’s words. “The curse is the only thing we have against him.”

When Minseok still refused to budge, Junmyeon’s tone softened, his voice losing its anger and leaving only urgency. “Please. Tell us.”

With one final sigh, Minseok’s shoulders sagged. He rose from his chair, eyes downcast and jaw clenched, and moved towards his desk. Rummaging through the papers that sat in the corner, he pulled one sheet from the bottom, old and weathered from frequent handling.

“When I was younger,” he started, staring at the paper for a moment longer before lifting his face to look at both Junmyeon and Jongdae, “Kou had me tell him what the crow had said, word for word. I hadn’t known it was the curse until later, and I had studied it often since, but nothing was ever produced from my efforts.”

He came back to the table, handing the paper to Junmyeon. “I doubt you will be able to make much of it, either. But this is the curse I carry.”

Junmyeon took the paper from the man’s outstretched hand, only letting his eyes sweep the words briefly before giving a short nod. He couldn’t look at it right now. Later, when his emotions were calmer, he would go through the lines. But for now, he was satisfied just to have it in his possession. The paper was folded and put into the inside pocket of his coat, his hand smoothing over the material as he cleared his throat.

“We will start first thing in the morning.” He spared a look around the cottage, stopping when his attention once more fell to Minseok. “Is there anything you wish to take with you?”

Minseok tilted his head. “… Take with me?”

Jongdae, always one step ahead, smiled at the words. “We have a bit of a trip. We shouldn’t take much.”

“Indeed,” Junmyeon agreed readily. “Essentials will have to do.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Minseok questioned, looking between the two. “Where are you taking me?”

“The safest place I can think of,” Junmyeon answered, finally giving his brother a smile. “The castle.”

* * *

**Nat’s Notes:** Fun fact: Angst <333  I mean, it _can’t_ come as a surprise. Not now. Not after all our warnings. Heh. But we hope you like it! This is one of the chapters we’ve looked forward to the most since we started plotting. Also, one of our catch phrases: “ _Poor Seok._ ” Haha. But yesh, hope you liked it <3   The next chapter will be… pretty long, as well (Meg’s comment: _among other things_. Okay, sorry. I’m stopping now (Nat’s comment: Pfffft.)). Oops? Sigh. We fail at short chapters. (Another fun fact: We’ve reached 70.000 words! 72.000, to be more exact. Whoo! And 150 pages 8)) Anyway, yesh. I think I have nothing more to say. Thank you for reading!  <3 And we love comments and upvotes and all that nice stuff <3 ~~Definitely not hinting at anything. Nope.~~

**Meg’s Notes:** We’ve been looking forward to this chapter for quite some time, for some sick, sadistic reason (because look what we have done to poor Seok). But it was so much fun to write (I worry about our mentality (Nat’s comment: What? What? No. Not at all.))! We hope you enjoyed it. This one was very Seok-centric, with some XiuChen as well, but Sulay is working on it, haha ^^ And the chapter length, as Nat said, is getting longer (because I’m wordy as hell and it is rubbing off on her). Still, we hope you find all of these words to be as necessary as we did while writing. We work hard to make this plot the best it can be, and we love sharing it with all of you <333 Any comments or upvotes or whatnot are greatly appreciated to feed these poor writers’ souls <3333

 

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 7!


	8. Let Death Take Back the Life it Gave

It was one thing to be told you were a prince. It was another to actually see how a prince lives, to experience it for yourself. And Minseok was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the changes to his everyday life, even if he hadn’t really claimed his title.

The forest had been the only home he had known, vast and wild and quiet. He had grown accustomed to being the only person for miles, to the sounds of the woods and animals being the only thing that disturbed his peace. Surrounded by trees, it was easy to forget that there was a whole city of people nearby.

But he had been reminded of it quickly as he followed Junmyeon and Jongdae through the gates. Perhaps it was his lingering illness that led to his nerves being drawn tight, but even if he had been completely healthy, he doubted he would have even been ready for such a drastic change of scenery.

First, the sounds were different. It wasn’t the calm air that hung over the woods, but busy, as if a hum settled over the group as they walked. And the structures. The buildings were massive works of wood and stone, which made his cottage in the woods seem like a shed. The castle, of course, was impressive, but every building seemed grander, more complex. Even Jongdae’s home, a modest house along the gates, was large enough to hold his entire cottage in the front room.

He was stepping out of his simplistic comfort zone and being thrown into something new and different and complicated.

Though, to be fair, he wasn’t the only one having a difficult time adjusting. Seeing as Junmyeon couldn’t very well take in random strangers without the others noticing, they had arranged to keep it within a select few, at least, mainly consisting of those Minseok had saved from bandits so long ago. No one, save the group he had come to call friends and Chanyeol and Tao, knew him as anything different than a new stable hand. The king and queen - his parents - didn’t even know he was here, a thought that he found surprisingly relieving. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to meet the people who, in his mind, had become mere ideas.

The lack of awareness in the castle, however, didn’t make it any easier to handle. The look that Lay - _Yixing,_ he corrected himself - wore on his face when he saw Minseok was enough to assure of that, a frown marring his features. Junmyeon had fed him the story that _Xiumin_ had fallen ill and had been brought along so he did not have to battle his sickness alone. And though Yixing had berated Junmyeon for, once again, acting recklessly without consulting him, the advisor was not against Minseok being close by. Yifan, having seen Yixing’s reaction, warmed up much quicker, no doubt excited for some entertainment while he stayed at the palace for the next month or two.

The guards were tougher to win over. While they recognized Minseok as the man who had saved their group in the woods, that recognition had won him no points. If anything, it seemed to make them more hesitant, Chanyeol more vocal in his distress, though the captain was not so much upset about Minseok’s presence as he was with Junmyeon’s secrecy. As a friend and a member of Junmyeon’s personal guard, he was disappointed in being left out of the loop, especially when it could have cost Junmyeon his safety and perhaps his life.

But like anything Chanyeol did, the taller man took it in stride, and accepted that whatever the reason for hiding it before, Junmyeon had at least confided in him now, and that was all he could ask. Once Chanyeol had made up his mind to accept Minseok into the castle, Zitao followed suit, earning a bright smile from Yifan for his efforts. Within the span of a day, Minseok was readily accepted among the group, all of which formed a formidable force at keeping his identity as Xiumin the Bandit Slayer under wraps, Junmyeon and Jongdae. And of course, only Junmyeon and Jongdae knew of Minseok’s true identity, which made blending in a hell of a lot easier.

It took two days for Minseok to start feeling like himself again, forced to stay in bed by a certain stable hand and an annoyingly protective younger brother. But he soon became restless, unable to stay indoors, and by the end of the fourth day, he had roamed through the outskirts of the castle grounds. He found the most solace in the stables, away from all of the hustle and bustle, though the horses were still an obstacle. An animal that large was not meant to be tamed, in his mind; yet he would admit that he was impressed with Jongdae’s ability to do just that.

Minseok had taken to accompanying Jongdae on most days, following him to the stables in the morning and watching the man move from stall to stall, tending to the horses. He even convinced Jongdae to give him tasks to do, chores that were hardly tough, but enough to keep him preoccupied. He was supposed to be a stable hand, after all.

At the moment, he was having to refill the troughs with water for the horses, carrying buckets filled to the brim from the well in the courtyard to each stall. He’d keep his distance as best as he could from the horses, but he did his task without complaint. All the while, he kept an eye on Jongdae, who was busy brushing down one of the stallions a few stalls down.

The animal was beautiful, with a white coat and a strong, solid frame. Beautiful, but intimidating. Though this horse was a bit older, he could no doubt cause trouble if he wanted to throw his weight around, and Minseok had watched warily as the animal stomped a hoof in annoyance when the stable hand brushed a little too close to his snout. But Jongdae was as calm as ever as he moved around the creature, humming softly to himself and shushing the horse like a patient parent when he got agitated.

When the horse nipped at Jongdae’s shoulder, Minseok couldn’t keep from commenting.

“Do you always get bit by the horses?”

Jongdae snorted at the words, shooting the other a smirk. “That was hardly a bite. He merely lipped at my shirt. Lay tends to be playful during his grooming.”

“Lay?” Minseok asked, one eyebrow raised, and Jongdae laughed.

“Jun’s stallion. Yixing refused to talk to Jun for about a day when he introduced him with that name. Though I hardly think it was meant as an insult,” Jongdae said as he gave the horse an affectionate pat on the nose. “He’s a big softie.”

“Who could crush you, if he wished,” Minseok countered, eying the horse. “I don’t see how you do it.”

“Do what?” Jongdae questioned, head tilted to the side as he regarded Minseok quietly.

“Work with them so calmly,” Minseok replied, his hand shooting out to indicate the stable hand’s interaction with Lay.

“Practice, I suppose,” Jongdae said with a shrug, and Minseok moved closer to the stall, leaning against the rail that separated them. The horse watched him as he moved, tossing his head a little bit, but Jongdae shushed him again and the stallion relaxed.

The reaction was enough to have a skeptical look crossing Minseok’s features.

“But aren’t you afraid?” Minseok asked, watching as Jongdae brushed over the horse’s back. “They can be dangerous.”

“Yes, they can be,” Jongdae admitted. “But after a while, the horses stop being scary. You get used to things, learn to handle them.”

“But what if you can’t control them?” Minseok mused softly, his fingers following the grain in the wood rail as he spoke.

Jongdae paused at that, his hand with the brush hovering momentarily over the horse’s flank, but he recovered quickly, sending Minseok a small smile to accompany another shrug.

“I can’t control a lot of things. Worrying will do me no good.”

Minseok didn’t know when the topic turned away from the horses. But suddenly, they were out of the stables, and back at the cottage, the air much heavier than before. He knew Jongdae was hurting after the curse’s reveal, even if he never voiced it, but as he watched Jongdae go about his work, he focused on the man's expression. Jongdae's lips remained curled on the edges, his smile notably a little sadder than before, but still _there_.

“Not many have that outlook,” he said with his own dimmed grin. Without turning to face Minseok, Jongdae let out a soft chuckle.

“I’ve come to realize that things have a way of working themselves out, if you let them.”

Minseok's grin widened, and he shook his head at the reply. "That seems awfully optimistic."

Jongdae snorted at the words, finally stepping away from the horse and facing Minseok with an amused expression. Whether Jongdae had caught Minseok’s nod to the words the stable hand had said in the cottage or not, Minseok found he preferred this expression to the somber look he had worn moments before.

“What can I say?” Jongdae laughed, letting out a wistful sigh as he met Minseok’s gaze. “Life is easier when you look for the light.”

Jongdae seemed to find his own words to be humorous, as he laughed quietly to himself once more, shaking his head. He scratched at his neck, the loose work shirt pulling across his shoulders as he did so, and Minseok couldn’t help but admire the visual affirmation of Jongdae’s hard work and dedication in the form of lean muscles and a trim waist.

“I better keep moving,” Jongdae said with his chuckle, pulling Minseok from his musings, “I have a few more horses to groom before dinner is served.”

When he went to pass through the stall door, ready to move to the next horse, Minseok couldn’t help but reach out. He had never been one for contact, but something inside him ached with a need to stop Jongdae, to hold him there for a moment longer. His fingers wrapped gently around the man’s wrist, waiting until Jongdae stilled before he slid his hand down over the swell of the other’s thumb, settling around his palm.

It was strange, initiating contact. Minseok had spent the majority of his life avoiding others, keeping to himself, and yet here he was, reaching out for another. But the thrill of making that small step, the tingle of anxiousness in his gut as his fingers found warm, calloused hands – honest and hardworking hands – was enough to make him consider trying to reach out more often. At least, when it concerned Jongdae.

The stable hand watched him quietly, slightly bewildered at the gesture, but Minseok only observed him, his eyes fixed on the man’s face. Even now, the man was smiling, a permanent fixture on his lips, and Minseok wondered if this were what Jongdae meant, if _this_ were what made life easier. Because never in his life had Minseok seen a light quite as bright as Jongdae.

Minseok smiled after a moment, letting his fingers tighten their hold just barely in a squeeze, and Jongdae understood. Minseok hadn’t expected any less than that, knowing the man was perceptive of the people around him, and he practically beamed when Jongdae turned his hand in Minseok’s grip, squeezing back.

Neither said a word, only exchanging silent smiles before Jongdae gently pulled free.

“See if any of the horses need more hay,” Jongdae said as he moved to the next stall. “Some of them are gluttons, but it’s best to let them eat at their own pace.”

“You are truly trying to destroy my nerves,” Minseok groaned with a mock pout, a hard task to accomplish when he was still grinning like a fool. “I doubt I will ever get used to being so close to these animals.”

“Practice,” Jongdae reminded him, turning to walk backwards as he winked at Minseok. “You just need practice.”

Minseok chuckled, throwing Lay a curious look.

“Shall I start with you, then, Lay?”

When the stallion nickered at the mention of his name, Minseok grinned, moving off to get some fresh hay for his trough.

-

As an advisor, Yixing took pride in his ability to solve the issues that plagued Junmyeon’s mind.

It was his duty, after all. He was there for the prince to confide in, to guide him when he could not decide which way to go, and while Junmyeon was certainly a handful on most occasions, the title of advisor - and best friend - was not a light one. Junmyeon turned to him when he was lost, sought him out for his opinions.

Which was why it bothered Yixing that the prince was not doing so, now.

He suspected Xiumin’s unexpected arrival at the castle to be a possible reason for Junmyeon’s sudden lack of sharing, their hermit of a friend ushered in while still battling his illness. The change in the prince’s mood had happened _after_ Xiumin’s arrival; he highly doubted that he would have have failed to notice Junmyeon’s reluctance to open up to him, had it started from something prior. But nothing had been said, and now, a week after the other’s appearance, Yixing questioned his judgment, especially when Yifan had jokingly accused Yixing of being jealous of the prince’s friendship with the man. And Yixing was not _jealous_ , so he began to look for alternative causes.

He knew Junmyeon better than anyone, he’d argue. He noticed the minor things that made up his characteristics. His nervous ticks, the different nuances of his expressions, all of the things that were indicators to what was in his head. And though Junmyeon had given a valiant effort at hiding those thoughts, Yixing knewhe was agitated by _something._ He just didn’t know _what_.

And none of his usual tactics were working for getting such highly guarded thoughts out of the other man. He had asked - politely, mind you - and was met with vague hand gestures and incomplete responses. He had dropped hints that were left dropped, Junmyeon refusing to take his baiting. If he weren’t above such things, he would have already threatened to involve Yifan, but the thought alone had him grimacing. He didn’t need Yifan to find out information. This was _Junmyeon._ If the rose had something to say, he would say it to the nightingale, of that Yixing was certain.

But he was left in silence, and Yixing was quickly growing worried. He had never had this much trouble getting Junmyeon to talk to him, but the sudden change in Junmyeon’s willingness to open up felt like an omen for things to come. Something had changed, whether it be Junmyeon or Yixing, and the advisor’s self-doubts were quick to place the blame on his abilities. It had always been one of Yixing’s saving graces as an advisor, knowing that, even if others did not trust him to guide the future leader of the kingdom, _Junmyeon_ trusted him, had always trusted him with everything that happened in his life. But now, it seemed, that was not the case.

Which had led him to the gardens.

The Royal Rose Garden was almost always deserted, something Yixing never understood. The king had gifted his queen with the garden - which, in truth, was multiple gardens all in one - as a wedding present, and with such vibrant colors and wonderful fragrances, Yixing had always thought the gesture to be romantic. The queen spent much of her leisure time there when the roses were in bloom, smiling softly at the mix of red and white flowers. But asides from her majesty, not many ventured into the gardens, despite the family’s insistence that the gardens were meant to be enjoyed by all of the castle staff.

Yixing took full advantage of the invitation, however, and almost always came here to think over his more difficult problems. Like a prince not confiding in his advisor.

He let out a long sigh as he strolled through the rows of bushes, frowning at the recent weather’s toll on the blooms. The snow had surprised the kingdom this year, later than usual, and as a result, a large amount of the roses had been killed off, too delicate to endure the frost. He allowed his fingers to trace over one of those unfortunate roses, white petals wilted under the chill that still clung to the air, though the snow had melted days ago. This row of white roses had suffered greatly, it seemed, with only a few blossoms pulling through.

Other bushes were more fortunate, like the red roses in the lower half of the garden. That row had lost only a few flowers, the brilliant red color blooming in a show of defiance as if to mock the winter weather. Yixing wondered if it had less to do with the flower’s tenacity and more to do with the man he could see working at the end of the row.

“Do you ever go inside, Jongin?” Yixing called as he approached, smiling when the younger man looked up.

Kim Jongin, though young, just a few months older than Sehun, was one of the best gardeners the castle had seen in quite some time. He was a natural when it came to tending to the plants, knowing how to keep the roses healthy throughout the bloom cycle. The man had only joined the castle staff last year, and already he was gaining a name for himself by being a constant presence in the gardens. And his hard work was evident in his appearance, with tanned skin from days spent outdoors and a lean, muscular build. His nature was as gentle as his care of the flowers, kind and compassionate, and Yixing always found their friendly conversations enjoyable.

Jongin grinned at the advisor as he neared, shaking his head with a good-natured huff. “Not if I can help it. How are you, friend?”

“I have been better,” Yixing admitted with a small sigh, eyeing a particularly brilliant rose amid the others.

“Oh?” Jongin hummed, wiping his hands on his pants as he stood, not at all bothered by the dirt that now stained the fabric. Yixing was always surprised by the height of the other, Jongin’s youth and somewhat innocent nature almost comical with the way he towered over most of the castle staff. “What’s troubling you?”

“The prince is troubled, and therefore, so am I.”

“I see,” he hummed. “And what has been troubling Junmyeon?”

Yixing rolled his eyes, letting out a chuckle that was part amused and part exasperated, because did _anyone_ besides himself address Junmyeon properly? But the thought was gone in an instant, the question more pressing at the moment.

“ _That_ is the problem. He has not told me any of his thoughts.”

Jongin’s brow scrunched in confusion, reaching out to pull some dead blossoms and branches from the bush as he worked through the words in his head. “You’ve asked?”

Yixing didn’t humor the question with a response, instead choosing to send the gardener a raised eyebrow. Jongin grinned, nodding his head.

“I figured you had. But it’s always best to be sure. And he’s evaded your questions, I assume?”

“Evaded questions, evaded advice, evaded any type of lesson that does not involve sparring,” Yixing laughed. “All typical behavior for the prince, would you not agree?” He sighed despite himself, the mirth fading around the edges of his smile. “But it does not seem like he trusts me with whatever it is that has clouded his mind as of late. He is being stubborn. More stubborn than usual. He will not tell me anything.”

“So I am not the only one Junmyeon refuses to answer?”

Yixing turned to see Kyungsoo approaching, the history tutor walking steadily towards them, his eyes trained on the advisor. It was always rare to see Kyungsoo outside of the study, though Yixing was certain that was more due to following Junmyeon around with his hectic schedule than Kyungsoo not having a life apart from history lessons. Still, Yixing was surprised to see him here in the gardens, of all places. Nevertheless, he greeted his friend with a brief smile and nod.

“You’ve noticed, too, then?”

“Noticed what?” Kyungsoo questioned, stopping in front of the pair. “His refusal to answer my history questions? That has been going on for quite some time.”

“Yes,” Yixing agreed before correcting, “though his lack of response has extended outside of my lessons, I fear. Something seems to be bothering him, but he will not tell me what it is.”

Kyungsoo’s nose crinkled in a look of annoyance, shaking his head. “The fact that you can get anything out of him at all still baffles me.”

“I know him well,” Yixing replied with a shrug, and Kyungsoo considered him for a moment.

“I am sure you do,” he shot back, and Yixing balked at the smirk that slid across the other’s face.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin chided with a chuckle, playfully glaring at the shorter man.

“I am merely suggesting that Yixing would know our beloved prince better than most,” Kyungsoo said as he returned the glare in challenge, though the corners of his lips never fell from the smirk, removing the heat the expression would usually carry if directed at Junmyeon or Yifan.

“With your words, yes,” Jongin allowed, before shaking his head with a smile. “But your tone suggests much more.”

And Yixing was certain that if his jaw had not dropped yet, it tumbled to the ground when Kyungsoo’s face broke into a wide grin, a melodic laughter spilling from his lips. The advisor had never seen such glee on the other’s face, the expression leaving him to look years younger. He went to respond, but it seemed Kyungsoo had momentarily forgotten his presence, his gaze solely for Jongin. Yixing racked his brain for any memory of Jongin ever meeting Kyungsoo, but came up with nothing. Yet here they were, bantering and laughing. Kyungsoo was practically _giggling._

Kyungsoo never _giggled_.

Yixing had assumed Kyungsoo had come to find him in the gardens to discuss Junmyeon’s lessons, or to compare notes on new strategies to gain his attention. But now, watching as the tutor interacted with Jongin, he thought otherwise.

Soon, Kyungsoo remembered Yixing standing there, and he cleared his throat, ducking his head a little even as he held Yixing’s gaze.

“I can see how his silence could be an issue for you. And this has been going on for a while, I take it?”

“Long enough,” Yixing answered, sighing as he turned his attention back towards the roses. “I worry that the longer it continues, the less likely it will be that I gain that communication back.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Kyungsoo chimed in, before adding, “He always comes to you in the end. But perhaps he does not know what to make of his own thoughts?”

“Is that not what I am here for?” Yixing questioned, his frustration clear in his tone. “To help sort difficult thoughts?”

“Perhaps,” Kyungsoo agreed, “but difficult thoughts are hard to speak of, at times.”

“As his advisor -”

“Maybe he doesn’t need his advisor,” Jongin cut in, sending Yixing a sheepish smile at the interruption. “Maybe he needs his friend?”

Yixing didn’t have an answer to that, despite his wide vocabulary. Junmyeon had teased him, multiple times, about being his friend before his prince, but Yixing had steadily refused to drop his duties. He was not stupid. He knew what others had whispered in the halls of the castle when they thought no one would hear, the way they questioned his selection as a royal advisor at such a young age. He knew his friendship with Junmyeon made him look favored, made others think he was only given such a rank for his relationship with the prince. Unearned, in their eyes.

But he was a damn good advisor. He was a _professional,_ and he had proved that time and time again. Or at least he had until Junmyeon refused to confide in him. He could hardly be an advisor if he were not given a chance to advise.

Likewise, however, he could hardly be a friend without being close with Junmyeon.

He had, for years now, kept his distance in handling the prince, whether Junmyeon understood that or not. And yes, maybe he had changed from the carefree child Junmyeon had known, only letting that side appear once more in the most private of moments; but as his advisor, Yixing would have the answers he sought.

But maybe Junmyeon didn’t want to hear them from his advisor now. Maybe he wanted to hear them from _Yixing_.

He just didn’t know how sound _Yixing’s_ advice would be, clouded with affection and bias, or how close he would have to allow Junmyeon to be for the prince to get those answers he wanted. He had caught himself on multiple occasions with thoughts he shouldn't have and emotions he shouldn't hold for the prince, knowing they were inappropriate. Knowing they would only complicate things. He couldn't be more than an advisor with Junmyeon, because he didn't know what _more_ entailed. And once - _if_ , his mind quickly corrected - they broke past those professional limitations, he didn't know if he could stop himself from crossing other lines, as well. And if others, like Kyungsoo and Yifan, could see him struggling with his emotions now - when he didn't fully understand them, himself - then what would happen if he gave in completely? How different would his interactions be? How altered would his advice become?

He had kept his barriers between who he was and who Junmyeon’s advisor had to be for so long that he didn’t know what would happen if suddenly the barriers were removed.

The thought alone was far more terrifying than it should have been.

“If it helps,” Jongin continued when he saw Yixing at a loss for words, “I’ve never seen someone remain unmoved by roses.”

“A rose for the rose,” Kyungsoo quipped, earning a sharp look from Yixing, though he said nothing else to give Yixing _yet another_ reason to kill Yifan, because if the man were spreading that private information, he would not hesitate in strangling him. He had wondered when the young lord would seek his revenge after having to assist Kyungsoo for nearly a month, due to Junmyeon sneaking around and visiting Xiumin, though he hardly thought it fair that his name had to be thrown into this as well when he had been just as fooled as Yifan.

Yixing waited for Kyungsoo to tease him further, and narrowed his eyes in thought when it never came. Perhaps it was an innocent connection on Kyungsoo’s part. The rose was in the royal family crest, after all.

Kyungsoo’s smirk, on the other hand, said otherwise. But Yixing chose to ignore it, lest he be the one to invite _that_ conversation.

He gave a stiff nod to the gardener's suggestion, and after a few selections, was promptly given a handful of roses, both of white and red. He held them gingerly between his fingers, wary of the thorns that remained on the stems. It would do no good to be pricked by the sharp points and bleed all over the flowers before he could deliver them to the prince. Not that he knew exactly _why_ he was giving the man roses in the first place, but if it eased Junmyeon's mind enough for him to talk freely again, Yixing would try just about anything.

“Thank you,” he said in farewell, giving both men a nod before turning back towards the castle. He didn’t get far before Kyungsoo called out once more.

“Oh, and Yixing?”

When the advisor turned to give Kyungsoo a questioning look, Kyungsoo continued, “Tell Junmyeon he still owes me a new set of quills. I have not forgotten the last bunch he ruined.”

Yixing laughed loudly, eyes disappearing with the force. _There_ was the Kyungsoo he knew and slightly feared. “Noted. He will certainly replace them if I have any say in the matter.”

Kyungsoo snorted, but waved the man off, and Yixing took his leave, roses clutched in his hand.

-

Junmyeon felt like he was losing.

Losing time, losing sanity, and certainly losing patience.

It had been a full week since Minseok had arrived, settling into Jongdae’s home with little to his name, save a change of clothes, his flint set, and the quiver and bow he had kept in the corner of his cottage. And he had seen him every day since, watched him grow healthy once more, to the point where he started helping Jongdae in the stables.

Yet, as healthy as he was, Junmyeon knew there was something much more hazardous to his health than a mere fever lingering in the background, and so far, Junmyeon had no way of breaking it.

He’d blame his lack of experience with magic if it weren’t for the history lessons he had received on the subject, though the lectures he had sat through with Kyungsoo were more accounts of how the kingdom had gotten rid of it physically in the Nightshade Rebellion, and not so much how to counteract it. He had looked through much of the library, but his search had suffered from a lack of privacy and a lack of proper attention, all of his searches quick and superficial. But he just hadn’t had the time to deal with the information the books held properly.

Part of that was due to a well-meaning, but hovering Yixing.

His friend had been, for a lack of a more powerful word, present. All too present for Junmyeon to do anything without drawing an unnecessary amount of attention to what he wished to do. And the worst part of it was that Yixing _knew_ there was something up. Whether it was Yixing’s advisor intuition or just from having known Junmyeon for so long, Yixing was aware that something had gotten stuck in the grooves of the prince’s brain and refused to leave him be. He had been asking for days, keeping a close eye on the other, and biting his tongue in what was a clear attempt at not pressing for information. But he was having a hard time dealing with it, it seemed.

And Junmyeon couldn’t blame him. He _was_ his advisor, and best friend, and usually the first person he went to when he was in a situation that required some brainstorming. But this time, things were different. It was not his secret to keep, but Minseok’s.

As much as he wished to tell Yixing his problem, he couldn’t do it without feeling like he had betrayed Minseok’s trust, yet again. Minseok had only agreed to come to the castle after convincing Junmyeon and Jongdae that his identity should be kept hidden, something both readily agreed to. It was best if no one knew of Minseok’s heritage. Easier to hide him, to keep his arrival at the castle under wraps. But had he known the frustration this would cause him now, trying to hide something from Yixing, he may have fought to at least bring the other into the loop.

But he wouldn’t do so now, when Minseok had his word. He wouldn’t go against his promise, and therefore he wouldn’t tell Yixing. And so, he had committed to handling this curse practically on his own.

Obviously, Yixing didn’t understand.

He had dropped by that night with a handful of roses, freshly picked from the gardens. Something to brighten up the room, Yixing had said. Junmyeon had smiled at the blossoms, the red and white petals contrasting beautifully as he put them in a vase of water. Though he appreciated the flowers, he was not blind to the hidden motive behind the action. And when Yixing switched from small talk and began to question, _once again_ , the silence that had befallen him, Junmyeon was not surprised.

“You seem to be lost in thought,” Yixing started, lowering himself to sit down on the bed. Junmyeon had yet to move from his spot by the windowsill where he had placed the vase, eyes turned towards the roses instead of his friend.

“Do I?” he hummed, playing innocent though he knew it would not be convincing enough to fool Yixing. The snort he earned for his efforts confirmed that.

“You have been for days, now,” Yixing challenged, pleased when Junmyeon did not try to deny it. “Is there nothing I can do to help?”

If he were honest, Junmyeon knew Yixing would be an irreplaceable resource for this type of dilemma. With his intelligence and the amount of time he spent flipping through the books in the library, he could certainly be of use. And his ability to work through problems was a skill Junmyeon had always admired. But like he had done every other time Yixing had questioned him about this, he shook his head.

“There is not much anyone can do, I am afraid.”

“Not even me?” Yixing asked, suddenly very quiet, and Junmyeon chanced a look at his friend and immediately wished he hadn’t. Though the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, and a single candle lit the room, he could see Yixing clearly. He was watching Junmyeon with a look of desperate confusion, but more than that, disappointment. He was disappointed in Junmyeon, or himself, or maybe both. But Junmyeon despised the emotion. It looked _wrong_ on Yixing’s face, and he had the fleeting thought to move across the room and smooth his fingers over the wrinkles, until they were relaxed once again.

But he stayed where he was and shook his head, hating how the action drew Yixing’s frown together that much further.

“Your Highness,” he began, wetting his lips briefly, “you know I have… That I will _always_ be here for you when you struggle with decisions. There is nothing you cannot come to me with when you are in need of another’s opinion.”

“I know,” Junmyeon assured. “I have always known that. Why do you think I made you my advisor?”

“Why did you?” Yixing asked gently, and Junmyeon balked.

“Because you are one of my most trusted friends,” he answered. “Because I know you will be honest with me in your opinions, even if that means telling me that I am being an idiot. Why would I not place you in such a high position?”

Yixing bit out a dry chuckle, the sound more self-deprecating than Junmyeon had ever heard from the other. “Some would say that my position is a result of our friendship.”

“And those who say such nonsense have obviously never seen your character,” Junmyeon shot back immediately. He had known such reactions would occur when he appointed Yixing as his personal advisor, but he had not cared, because he knew Yixing was capable. Junmyeon had never questioned Yixing’s judgment, and he was the best man for the job. “You have proven yourself worthy on multiple occasions.”

“Then will you not allow me to prove it once more?” Yixing countered, hope and determination flickering across his face as he sat up straighter. “Will you not let me help you with whatever it is that bothers you now?”

“No,” Junmyeon said. “I am sorry, but there is nothing to address.”

“Please, reconsider. I know you are troubled." Yixing placed a hand on his chest. "Let me take some of that burden, if I can."

“I have made my stance clear," the prince said, a hand raising to rub at his temple. "There is nothing to be said further on the matter.”

“But… Junmyeon, I -”

“ _Yixing_ ,” Junmyeon nearly growled, voice a little harsher than what he had intended as his gaze snapped to the other. “Please. _Enough._ "

Yixing watched him for another moment, before looking away, clearing his throat as he picked at the fabric of the bedding. He swallowed once, before nodding his head, and Junmyeon watched as the man seemed to retreat into himself. It was only then that Junmyeon realized the advisor had used his name without the honorific. Yixing had used his _name._

It settled heavy on Junmyeon’s heart, that ugly feeling of guilt. Yixing was desperate to help, and here Junmyeon was, refusing that aid. But it wasn't because he didn't think Yixing could do it. He _knew_ he could. He just could not tell him.

"I..." Junmyeon trailed off, struggling with his words, backtracking to fix what damage he had unintentionally done. "I did not mean -"

“I understand," Yixing cut in, his tone flat and without emotion. "I was out of line. Do not worry. I will not bring it up again.”

"Xing -"

"I understand, Your Highness."

It was silent for a moment, the roles reversed from their previous ones. It was now Junmyeon who watched Yixing, the latter refusing to meet his eyes.

As Junmyeon watched the other’s face, backlit from the candle’s light, Yixing didn't flinch. But he was fighting back his emotions, frustrated and wounded by the refusal, and the prince felt his chest tighten.

He had only ever seen Yixing upset a handful of times, but every time he had, it had not sat well with Junmyeon. The prince had always done what he could to make sure Yixing was never hurting, and he knew that desire to shield the other was a lot stronger than it should be. But he couldn’t help but feel strongly for his friend’s pain. And if he knew of a way to fix things, he always did, especially when it came to Yixing.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Yixing to be upset. But he wouldn’t change his mind on what he would allow Yixing to know.

He could change the topic, though.

“Nightingale?” Junmyeon called, watching Yixing turn his head to look at him, albeit slower than usual. He smiled softly, a silent apology of sorts, before he continued. “Sing for me?”

Yixing regarded him quietly for a moment before huffing out a breath, a small smirk slotting into his features despite the pain that still resided there. “Do you not grow tired of that song, Rose?”

“Not with how lovely your voice is,” Junmyeon responded.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Yixing muttered teasingly, but Junmyeon smiled when the advisor scooted up to press his back to the pillows, patting the space next to him in invitation.

Junmyeon crossed the floor then, crawling up to rest beside the other man. He hesitated only a moment before pressing into Yixing’s side, reaching out to fiddle with the buttons of the man’s tunic instead of meeting his eyes. He didn’t know why he felt the need to invade his friend’s space after refusing to let him get close to his thoughts. It was selfish indulgence, to press closer to Yixing, but the touch was comforting and familiar and safe. And Yixing had, after a moment, reached out to sling one arm around Junmyeon’s waist, dragging him in closer and then moving his hand to rub the tension out of the prince’s shoulders and back, the action quieting any lingering doubts Junmyeon had about being so close to his friend.

Yixing began the song slowly, words lingering in the air a little longer that usual as he let his voice build, and Junmyeon closed his eyes as the notes filled the room.

“ _The rose, so pure, with petals white  
__The whitest rose in lunar light_  
_And nightingale, whom shall appear_  
_To sing the rose to sleep at night_

 _He sang of a love so sincere  
Devotion for the rose held near  
__But lo, the thorns that rip and tear…_ ”

Junmyeon hummed along with the song, providing a soft harmony for Yixing, but kept his own voice low. He couldn’t get enough of Yixing’s voice, and though he did join in on rare occasions, he much preferred to focus on Yixing’s bright tenor. When the song ended, the final note fading into the silence around them, Junmyeon sighed, opening his eyes reluctantly.

“It still amazes me,” he whispered, watching the rise and fall of Yixing’s chest as the other man drew in breath after breath.

“What does?” Yixing asked, his hand paying particular attention to a knot that had formed between Junmyeon’s shoulder blades. He hadn't realized how much tension he held in his shoulders until Yixing found the tender spots.

“The selflessness of the nightingale,” Junmyeon answered, shaking his head. “How readily he sacrificed himself for the rose. I cannot imagine how brave the nightingale must have been.”

“Not brave. Foolish,” Yixing responded, and the matter-of-fact tone in his voice sparked irritation in Junmyeon's mind.

“Why must you always say that?” Junmyeon asked tiredly, looking up at Yixing, who had dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling instead of meeting the Junmyeon's gaze head on. “Why must you always question the action, making their love something to be frowned upon?”

“Because there is too much uncertainty in the emotion,” Yixing answered after a second’s thought. “There are too many things that muddle the love.”

“Like what?” Junmyeon said, sitting up further on the bed and ignoring the chill he gained when he moved away from Yixing’s warm side. “The nightingale’s love for the rose -”

“That is just it,” Yixing interrupted, lifting his head to glance at Junmyeon. Or in Junmyeon’s direction, not necessarily at the prince, himself. “The _nightingale’s_ love. That is all the song ever addresses. How the _nightingale_ loved his rose so much, how _he_ died for that love. But what of the rose?”

He dropped his eyes to the bed, and his voice dropped with it. “What are the rose’s feelings?”

“The rose loves the nightingale,” Junmyeon answered instantly, only for Yixing to shake his head.

“Does it?” Yixing argued. “The song never says so. All that is said is that the rose is changed by the nightingale, from white to red. Stained by the love forever. But there is not talk of pain, or suffering. Just change."

"You think the rose doesn’t recognize the sacrifice?" Junmyeon questioned, growing defensive for reasons he couldn't explain. "You think the rose simply let the nightingale die?"

"It is the rose’s thorns that kill the nightingale," Yixing pointed out. "One could argue that the rose did not trust the nightingale to be near it. That is the purpose of thorns, is it not? To keep others away? To protect the rose? But what protection did the rose need from the nightingale if it indeed loved him? The rose did not trust the nightingale, and what love can there be without trust?"

"Yixing, stop it," Junmyeon tried, not liking where this conversation had gone, not liking how it sounded less like the song and more like something personal, but the advisor kept on, his words growing faster, sharper.

"And all the while, the nightingale pressed closer, knowing there are thorns, yet still trying to gain the rose's trust. But what does he gain for those efforts? Suffering. And then death. He gave his life for a love that may or may not have ever been returned. So I ask again.”

He looked up to meet the prince’s stare then, and Junmyeon was surprised to see the pain in his eyes, so open and vulnerable. His voice, however, was strong, never wavered.

“Does the rose love the nightingale? Or is the nightingale’s love only his own?”

Junmyeon answered without pause, voice quiet, but firm. "The rose loves the nightingale."

Yixing tilted his head slightly, incredulously.

“And you are sure?” he asked. "Can it be done without trust?"

Junmyeon opened his mouth to answer, but had no response. He didn’t understand where all of this was coming from, why Yixing was suddenly so incessant, so adamant to argue the nuances of a song they had known since their childhood, but he understood that look. Yixing was _hurting_. Whether it was something Junmyeon had said or from his own inner thoughts, something had struck a nerve with his advisor.

And he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Yixing,” he whispered, almost pleading, and he reached out, laying a hand on Yixing’s chest. “My friend, where is all of this coming from?”

But Yixing pulled away at the touch, moving to get off of the bed.

“It is nothing,” Yixing replied shortly, eyes glued to the floor. “It is late. You best get to bed. I will see you in the morning."

"Yixing, wait," Junmyeon called, panicked at the idea of Yixing leaving. He couldn’t _leave_ , not like this. "You cannot just -"

"Goodnight, Your Highness."

He gave Junmyeon the smallest of nods, and turned to the door, ignoring Junmyeon’s pleas for him to stay, for them to talk, for them to correct whatever had happened between them. All fell on deaf ears, Yixing never once looking back.

As the door closed behind him, effectively leaving Junmyeon alone in his room, it felt a lot more final than it should have. The prince cursed, collapsing back onto the mattress. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to be upset. And for the thousandth time that night, Junmyeon wished he could just tell Yixing what was going on. But even that would be seen as false at this point, he feared.

He should go after him, but something told him Yixing would not welcome that. He would need to let this blow over, try to find him later when the emotions and stress of the situation had passed.

For now, he fixed his eyes on the roses by the window, trying and failing to block out the ache that had settled behind his ribs.

Yixing wasn’t handling his own pain much better.

He was shaking as he closed the door behind him, his breath coming in shallow drags and he fought his body’s urge to collapse, pressing his back to the wall just outside of Junmyeon’s room.

He was a fool for thinking he could do this, that he could try and chip away at that barrier he had created between the himself and the prince. _This_ was why he had to be professional. _This_ was why he kept the title attached to Junmyeon’s name when he addressed him. Because right now, his chest was on fire.

He should have never listened to the others when they said he should open up to Junmyeon, because this is what happened when he opened up.

He got a chest full of thorns.

Junmyeon didn't trust him at all. Whatever was bothering him, whatever it was that had kept him up at night for the past few days, he didn't think Yixing could solve. Didn't trust him enough to even voice it. And the idea of being an advisor that isn't trusted with issues sent chills down Yixing's spine. What good was an advisor who couldn't be told problems? What good was Yixing if Junmyeon refused to confide in him?

What good was love without trust? All it brought was pain.

Leaving was childish, he knew. Hell, the entire reaction was childish, taking Junmyeon’s words so personally when the prince did not even understand what he had been asking. But childish or not, he had to get away. He couldn’t sit there and listen to Junmyeon talk about the rose when he was feeling more and more like the nightingale, bleeding out due to unnecessary emotions, emotions that felt like they would forever be unrequited. He did what the nightingale should have done. He ran.

And as soon as he regained his composure, he did. With tears clouding his vision and his head down, he ran. But he didn’t get far, running headlong into a solid chest. He nearly toppled over, but steady hands reached out to right him on his feet.

“Leaving the prince’s chambers _again_ , Yixing?” Yifan’s voice rang out, and Yixing cursed under his breath. _Of course_ he would run into Yifan now, of all times.

“Let me pass,” Yixing said softly. The man in front of him was dressed in his sparring attire, having no doubt just seen Zitao for another lesson, but if he were tired, it didn’t show as he remained firmly in front of the advisor.

“And miss hearing the details of your latest romantic evening?” the young lord teased, clicking his tongue. “Why, Yixing, you know me better than that.”

“Yifan, _please_ ,” Yixing hissed through his teeth, looking up at Yifan deploringly. When Yifan’s smirk immediately dropped, he sniffed, trying to keep his breathing even and the tears at bay. He knew his emotions must have been all over his face, but he didn’t dare let go of what little control he had left. “I cannot… Please, do not do this tonight.”

“What happened?” Yifan asked, his voice falling to a more serious tone.

Yixing waved him off, shaking his head as he willed his tears away. “I am a damn fool, that is all. Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to retire to my room.”

“Yixing,” Yifan said in warning. “Stop. Tell me what happened. Did you and Junmyeon have an argument?”

Yixing shook his head, before adding a shrug, because it wasn’t quite an argument but it wasn’t really an agreement, either. It was the closest to an argument they had ever gotten, however, though Yixing did not readily say it. Yifan took his response as an affirmative, either way.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” Yixing said with a bitter smile. “He said nothing.”

For whatever reason, Junmyeon did not trust Yixing with what had claimed his thoughts for the last few days. And while he may have heard Yixing speak, he had not been listening. He had not understood what Yixing was asking of him, of the trust Yixing wanted to be placed on him. But Junmyeon had been firm, very straight-forward in his desire to keep whatever it was away from his advisor.

And Yixing was only hurting himself by continuing to press closer.

When Yifan looked past Yixing towards the door with a purposeful look, Yixing shook his head. “Leave him be, Yifan.”

“I am not the one who will be going into that room,” Yifan shot back, meeting his gaze in challenge. “ _You_ will. You must talk to him and settle whatever this is.”

“No,” Yixing refused sharply. “I will not. He has made it clear that he does not need me to discuss things. I will not pester him further tonight.”

"And you? He may not need advice, but does he need _you_?"

Yixing sighed. _No_ , his fears whispered. Junmyeon did not need him. "Yifan, it is no use."

"Go back in there."

"I will not."

“You should not leave it like this,” the young lord insisted. “You are upset, and I would bet my life that Junmyeon is, as well.”

“I am fine, I assure you,” Yixing scoffed, shaking his head. “This is nothing I cannot handle.”

“And you think this is handling things, do you?” Yifan challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “Running away from the issue?”

Yixing couldn’t help the watery smile he gave, no amusement in the expression as he met Yifan’s gaze.

“The nightingale is simply tired of the thorns,” he nearly whispered, the only indication Yifan had heard him being the quiet shock on his face. He used the surprise to his advantage, pushing past his friend and keeping his eyes trained on the end of the hall.

“Goodnight, Yifan.”

For the first time in a very long time, Yifan did not try to follow him.

-

Two days.

Minseok was far too aware of his time. For years, he had let the seasons slip by with little thought, determined not to think about how every hour, every minute, every _second_ brought him closer to an untimely end. He shrugged it off, distracted himself, because everyone had a limited amount of time. He was just unlucky enough to know how limited his time truly was. So instead, he ignored it. Moved through each day like normal, because no amount of fretting would change his fate.

But ignoring his impending demise was growing increasingly more difficult to do as the days dwindled into single digits.

He would find himself pausing in his work in the stables, suddenly struck by some insignificant sensation or thought, like how his heart quickened when the horses came closer, thudding loudly in his ribcage. Or how the breeze would feel as it slinked by, brushing cool fingers over his skin. Or how the vein in Jongdae’s neck would bounce with a steady pulse as he laughed, loud and vibrant and alive. And he would have to shove away the thought that always followed those realizations: That he wouldn’t be alive much longer to have these moments. To see the way the seasons would change the gardens at the castle, or how age would touch Jongdae’s features, or to watch his brother take the throne. All of that was beyond his time, and besides Jongdae and Junmyeon, everyone continued on as normal, unaware of the darkness that moved in their midst. He was insignificant. A shadow. And the world would continue despite his death.

Just like how the castle continued on with life as usual, hosting a festival despite Minseok’s mood.

The kingdom was having a festival for the turn of the season, including a ball given for the court. A spring festival, with food and lanterns and dancing, decorations spread throughout the castle grounds in celebration. A celebration that Minseok found all too ironic, because what did _he_ have to celebrate? While the kingdom rejoiced with the prospects of winter finally releasing the Earth from its hold, Minseok suddenly found himself wishing he could cling to it and never let it go. But not many were sad to see the winter go. Spring meant warmer days, new plants, new life.

But spring did not always bring life. Sometimes it brought heartache, and dark, bitter thoughts that clouded a young man’s mind as he hid himself away in the stables, avoiding the crowd of people that lingered just outside of the main hall’s entrance.

Everyone was dressed in their best formal wear, made of elaborate fabrics and done with the best craftsmanship, far different from the simple trousers and billowy work shirt Minseok had dressed in that morning. Part of him lamented the loss of grandeur in his life, wondering what it would be like to not feel so burdened day to day by his secrets, and to live like he had been meant to live. But the other part, the more practical part, watched Junmyeon fiddle with the high collar of his tunic and counted his blessings. The younger man looked absolutely miserable in his clothes, complaining about stupid traditions as he kept an eye on the entrance of the stables, undoubtedly waiting for someone to realize he had slipped away from the rest of the party. Yifan didn’t seem to enjoy being dressed in such fine materials, either, having snuck away with the prince, though Minseok had to admit the emerald color of his shirt was striking against his skin.

Jongdae seemed highly amused by Junmyeon taking refuge here, teasing him about how his clothes - made of spider silk, Minseok had been told, and though he didn’t know what was so great about spider silk, he knew the gold fabric must be rare - and how they were bound to get dirty in the dusty stables. Or how two of the most important men of the night should have known better than to think they could sneak off without drawing attention. He had tried to pull Yixing into that conversation, the advisor having perched himself by the door under the pretense of being a lookout, but Yixing had merely shaken his head with a small laugh, stating the prince would always do what he wanted, regardless of his wishes.

There was something there in those words, as well as Yixing’s gaze as he said them, that had Minseok questioning the shift in the two’s relationship. A hesitation was there that had not been there before, as well as some sort of acceptance that didn’t sit too well with Jongdae, though neither he nor Minseok had commented on it. For now, they were too busy laughing at Junmyeon’s whining.

Yifan, in particular, always enjoyed such things. And even if he were more put together than Minseok had ever seen him, the smirk he wore was very familiar.

“You are leaving hundreds of girls heartbroken at the loss of you as a dance partner,” the young lord piped up unhelpfully, snickering at the sneer that curled Junmyeon’s lips.

“You have your fair share of admirers as well, so your argument is invalid.”

“Yes, but I am not as good a dancer,” Yifan said with a laugh, to which Yixing chimed in.

“That is true. Your giant feet have crushed many of those poor girls’ toes.”

Jongdae’s peel of laughter was not dampened by Yifan’s glare.

“I do not _want_ to dance,” Junmyeon insisted over the sound of Jongdae’s glee, waving his hand as if Yifan’s words were not even fit to be in the air around him.

“Well, that is too bad,” Yifan replied with a sigh. “Dance comes with the title, I am afraid.”

“How long do you think it will take for them to notice you’ve slipped away?” Minseok asked as he leaned against the railing of one of the stalls, smiling fondly as Lay nudged his shoulder with his nose. Of all of the horses, Lay was the only one that didn’t really scare him anymore.

“Minutes,” Yixing answered, his eyes trained on the castle through the crack between the door and the frame as he straightened his own collar, the crimson color in bright contrast to the paleness of his skin. “Perhaps less.”

“I am surprised it has taken this long,” Junmyeon agreed, throwing a look over his shoulder at Yixing before giving a small shake of his head.

Minseok watched as Yifan followed the gaze, sighing quietly to himself. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the difference, it seemed.

“I still don’t understand your reluctance,” Jongdae said wistfully, elbowing the prince playfully as he passed to check on a black mare in the stall behind him. “The castle’s parties always seem like fun, to me.”

“That is because you have never been to one,” Yifan snorted, rolling his eyes. “You do not know what it is like.”

“What _is_ it like, then?” Jongdae asked, and all three of the partygoers answered in unison.

“Boring.”

Minseok chuckled at the pout that crossed Jongdae’s face, his bottom lip jutting out dramatically as he scoffed. “You three just don’t appreciate what you have.”

“I would trade with you in an instant,” Junmyeon stated softly, a little too low for Yixing to hear, though Minseok could tell he was straining to do so. “I do not have time for such things, at the moment.”

And even if Junmyeon hadn’t tossed him a pointed look, Minseok would have understood the meaning of those words. Junmyeon had been running himself ragged, looking for a cure for the curse that Minseok had long accepted, and seeing as Junmyeon grew more urgent every day, he suspected he had found nothing. Not that Minseok had expected him to in a month’s time, when he himself had spent years trying to break it. But the hope Junmyeon had held - still held - was almost infectious. More than once, Minseok had found himself lured into the temptation of the what ifs, only to remind himself that he had given that up long ago. It was no use. Not with the day so close.

Jongdae glanced at Minseok over Junmyeon’s shoulder, catching his eye briefly before shaking himself from the thoughts, turning his attention to Yifan instead.

“And how about you, Yifan? Care to switch places with a stable hand for a while?”

“If it means never having to wear this damned shirt again, yes.”

Jongdae chuckled at the words, but was cut off from his response by the soft groan from Yixing.

“You two must be sorely missed,” the advisor muttered, turning from the door to pin the royals with a look. “It is rare that the queen accompanies the guards on their search.”

“Mother is with them?” Junmyeon asked, voice a little sharper than he meant, and Minseok would have thought it strange had he not felt the same spike of panic in his heart. Because even if he were royal by blood, he was not prepared to meet any more members of the royal family. Especially not his parents.

He had done well to hide himself away during his time here, not having seen the royal couple once during his stay. But it seemed he was about to come face to face with one half of that crown, whether he was ready for it or not.

Minseok looked over at the door with wide eyes, body rigid, before turning to meet Jongdae’s gaze. The stable hand seemed just as tense, tossing his chin towards an empty stall a few down from Lay’s, tucked away in the back corner, and Minseok nodded immediately, forcing his body to cooperate. He disappeared into the stall just as the sound of the door opening reached him, and he pressed his back to the wall to hide himself fully from eyesight.

The light sigh that met his ears was far different from any he had heard before.

“There you are,” a woman’s voice spoke, and a shudder ran through Minseok despite the airy tone. “We have been looking for you.”

Minseok’s fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, his hands slightly shaking as he listened, eying the corner of the stall with a mix of utter fear and anticipation. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t. But against his better judgement, he found himself inching towards the stall’s gate, closer to the others, each step careful as he treaded over the hay and dirt.

“I am sure the festivities can manage without us for a while,” Junmyeon’s voice rang out, earning a small huff.

“Hardly,” the queen laughed, a melodic sound that was so similar to Junmyeon’s own laughter that Minseok paused in his movement, hesitating just at the edge of the stall. “The court comes to such festivals with the expectation of seeing you. And yet here you are, gallivanting in the stables.”

One look, Minseok reasoned. He would do it quickly. See this woman for himself, the mother who gave him away to Kou all those years ago. For protection, but still given away. He had imagined her for so long, and the opportunity to see her face, just this once, was too great to pass up. He had to know. He had to _know._

Cautiously, he peered around the corner of the stall, eyes raking over the group that had gathered at the opposite end of the stables.

He easily spotted Yifan, the young lord looking at Zitao, who, like Chanyeol, had dressed in decorative armor for the festival, reds and whites and golds adorning an intricately detailed chest plate and arm guards. Roses, Minseok noticed, though the look Yifan wore had Minseok questioning whether he was admiring the metal work or the man wearing it. Zitao, it seemed, was just as enamored, reaching out to smooth the collar of Yifan’s shirt before realizing what he had done and stepping back with a laugh. Chanyeol looked on with a mix of fondness and annoyance.

Jongdae stood a little closer to his hiding spot, his eyes flicking between the others and where Minseok had disappeared to, though he was desperately trying to make it seem like he was only interested in the horses and not anything else the stalls might have held. He was nervous, running his hands over his trousers habitually.

Junmyeon and Yixing had their backs to him, but his eyes didn’t rest on them for long, sliding over easily to the woman who stood in front of them.

His eyes raked over friendly, open features, paired with a bright smile that seemed approachable even with the elegant dress she currently wore. Junmyeon favored her, Minseok noted, though there were elements that seemed to point to him as well. She was beautiful, even with the tired look she wore, and carried herself with a sense of importance, though softer than it could have been. Less harsh.

He immediately liked her. And he didn’t know how to feel about that.

He ducked back in as she looked up, his heart lodged in his throat as he closed his eyes. But even then her face burned in his mind.

His mother. This was his mother.

His chest ached as he listened to the others talk, Junmyeon’s voice cutting through his thoughts. He had not been seen, and as always, life went on without knowledge of his presence.

“I was not aware I was a part of the festival’s main attractions,” the young prince snorted, and the woman sighed.

“You know this is a tradition, Junmyeon. A tradition that the court looks forward to every year. We must uphold appearances.”

There was a pause, and then she spoke again, this time addressing Yixing. “I am surprised you allow such disobedience, Yixing. If I were my son’s advisor, I am sure I would have scolded him fiercely for this.”

The words were lighthearted, teasing with familiarity, but Yixing’s answering laugh held a note of self-deprecation.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but your son has always been stubborn.”

“Just like his father,” the queen agreed, and Minseok had to bite his lip to keep from making a noise, shifting in his spot with a shallow breath through his nose. It was too much. All of it was _too much_. He couldn’t sit here and listen to the royal family - _his_ family - discuss their dynamics without him. He had to get out of the stables.

The stall he had ducked into was, thankfully, close to the exit on the opposite end. He counted to three, took a breath, and bolted, never pausing to glance back to see if he had been spotted. The chances of being seen were slim, with how few steps he had to take to break into the yard, but even if he had been spotted, he didn’t care. He had to go.

With the Spring Festival, the gardens were a main feature, the unveiling of the latest bloom cycle a big deal for the castle, the importance of the roses as clear as the family crest embroidered on every inch of cloth used in decoration. As a result, the rows had been lined with colorful lanterns and candles, lighting the way for any guest who wished to view the roses and other flowers that were grown on the grounds.

But the western section was thankfully deserted, due in part to the proximity of the outer wall, and in part to the lack of floral plants that grew in these rows. The bushes here were made up of tough shrubs, resilient to all types of weather and lower maintenance than the beautiful roses that filled the other sections, but less memorable. Easily overlooked.

And it was exactly what Minseok needed at the moment as he rushed through the rows, pushing deeper into the garden until he came to the one thing that made this section of the garden his favorite.

Jongdae had showed him the gazebo two weeks ago, leading him by the wrist while they were taking a break from their chores and smiling at the look of awe on his face. He ran his hand over the white wooden railing as he stepped underneath the awning, much like he had done that first day, and leaned back against one of the columns as his eyes slid closed once more.

This part had been decorated too, but the area would have been beautiful even if left bare. He didn’t seek it out for the beauty, however, but for the way it calmed his mind, for the quiet that enveloped him every time he stepped into the space. He had started to come here when his thoughts grew too loud, the world too much, and he would find peace among the ivy covered rails and the handful of roses that bloomed here, too stubborn to leave any section of the garden untouched completely by their petals.

Yet he found his thoughts refused to quiet tonight, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

A tiny part of him wanted his mother to be upset. To yell and scream and mourn him, because she had to know. She had to be aware that his time was almost up. And yet there she had been in the stables, teasing Junmyeon and Yifan and Yixing, and showing no signs of the upcoming date. Had she forgotten him so easily? Had she put him out of her mind and replaced it with hopes for Junmyeon? The young prince had such a bright future, if only because Minseok took all of the dark with him when he was smuggled away. But he wasn’t angry at Junmyeon. And in truth, he wasn’t very angry at his mother. But he was angry. Angry at how he had to go through this. Angry at the limited time he had. Angry that no one seemed to care at all.

But then there was always Jongdae.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Jongdae showed up a few minutes later, worry and guilt written all over on his face as he came to a halt in front of the gazebo. His chest heaved beneath the loose blue shirt he wore, though he tried to hide it, taking deep breaths through his nose that he thought Minseok couldn’t see. The stable hand was slow to approach him, as if he would scare Minseok away, as if he didn’t know he was the only one Minseok allowed to see him like this. Because he was. Minseok had only ever let a handful of people so close, and Jongdae had been the only person to ever get this deep under his skin.

But he moved to stand just across from him, leaning against the opposite railing as he regarded Minseok with a hesitant gaze. It was quiet, for a while, before he spoke up, his voice loud in the hush of the garden.

"Are you alright?"

Minseok didn't know what it was that made him open up as much as he did to Jongdae, but that overwhelming need to confide swept over him like a wave, and he could do nothing but let it take him, pulling words from his mind that he had never shown anyone.

"I never looked forward to my birthdays," he stated softly. "Every March, the world would awaken from its winter sleep, and life would flourish around me, but all I could think of was my death. Here was the Earth, taking a new breath of life, and I count my remaining breaths instead."

He smiled at Jongdae, though it was not quite a smile. More like a sneer attempting to hide in one. Bitter. Ugly.

"It is what it is, I suppose. Another birthday approaches, and I'm still here. Cursed and alone."

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said quietly and Minseok laughed softly to himself, looking off towards the ivy leaves that curved around the columns.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have let Jun and Yifan stay in the stables,” Jongdae explained slowly. “If I had made them leave sooner -”

“Jongdae,” Minseok cut off, shaking his head as he looked over at the man, “stop. You had no way of knowing the queen would come looking for them.”

“And yet she did,” Jongdae stated quietly, meeting Minseok’s gaze. “And now you are hurting.”

Another laugh, more sarcastic than the first.

“I’ve been hurting for a long time. A little more suffering doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“You shouldn’t be hurting at all,” Jongdae whispered, so softly that Minseok wondered if those words were meant for him to hear. He cleared his throat and started again, this time a little louder. “It doesn’t mean your suffering is any less painful.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Minseok answered, shaking his head as a sad smile touched his lips. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such things.”

“And why not?” Jongdae questioned, tilting his head to the side, his frown growing the slightest bit deeper as Minseok huffed.

“Because you will only suffer more from it,” Minseok reasoned, grinning as he looked at his feet, though the expression lacked any happiness. “And even if I am hurting, I won’t be for much longer.”

“ _Minseok_ ,” Jongdae gasped, his voice verging on a cry, and he was pushing himself off of the railing, moving across the stone slab floor. He took a hold of Minseok’s shoulders tightly, forcing the man upright, dropping his head to try and catch Minseok’s eyes even as the older man refused to meet his gaze. “Please. Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” Minseok muttered, knowing he sounded defeated and not caring if he did, because at least his voice was honest. He _was_ defeated. And there was nothing anyone could do to fix that.

“We will find a way,” Jongdae promised, giving Minseok’s shoulders a small squeeze, “Junmyeon has been searching every day. We just need -”

“What?” Minseok cut in, looking up to face the man fully. “More time? Dae, there _is_ no time.”

“No,” Jongdae bit out, shaking his head fiercely. “Not more time.”

“Then what?” Minseok asked, surprised by the way his voice wavered, eyes prickling with unshed tears. He was so tired, frustrated by these emotions. “What else is there?”

He didn’t sense the movement until Jongdae’s lips were against his, warm and urgent and so much of what Minseok craved, had craved for a while now. And he whimpered at the sensation that ran through his being, because this was all that he wanted, and all that he knew he couldn’t allow himself to have.

Jongdae pulled away first, looking up at Minseok with a slightly bewildered expression, as if he couldn’t believe his own actions either. But that surprise vanished as quick as it came, replaced by determination and not even an inkling of regret, and he pressed his forehead to Minseok’s as he closed his eyes once more.

“Faith,” he whispered, the words skidding across his lips in warm, lingering touches. Minseok’s lips burned at the touch, and his chest felt heavy. The kiss was hardly thirty seconds long, yet his body responded as if it were much more. And maybe it was, paired with the emotions of the situation. And with the fact that it was Jongdae who had kissed him.

He reached up with both hands, cupping the man’s face and hating the tremble he could feel in the other’s frame. He could feel the wetness that touched his thumb when he swiped it across Jongdae’s cheek, silent tears that he couldn’t hold back, even as the man smiled up at him with a fondness he didn’t deserve. _This_ was why he shouldn’t let anyone in so close. Jongdae was crying, _hurting_ , and it was because of him.

It was always because of him.

“Jongdae,” he choked out, forcing the younger man to look at him. He couldn’t do this to Jongdae. He couldn’t let the man drown in his emotions and then leave him alone to pick up the pieces. But Jongdae only shook his head, reaching up to cover Minseok’s hands with his own.

“Don’t,” Jongdae warned. “This isn’t about me.”

Minseok wet his lips, giving Jongdae a hard look. “In two days’ time -”

“We’ll find a way,” Jongdae interrupted, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “We’ll find a way.”

And Minseok should pull away and put some distance between them, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fight it any more than Jongdae could fight holding back, and even if it hurt, he didn’t want to move. So he allowed it. He allowed it when Jongdae reached forward to wrap his arms around Minseok’s middle. He allowed it when Jongdae pushed further into his space, his face buried in the side of Minseok’s throat, just below his jaw. And he allowed himself to hug Jongdae back, to hold the other man closer and just breathe, because he didn’t know if he would get another chance to do so. He held him so close that he could feel the man’s heartbeat reverberating through his own chest, strong and steady, and he pressed his hand flat against Jongdae’s back as if to draw him closer still, as if he could absorb this source of light and life and love and feed off of it when he no longer knew the way out of his dark thoughts.

And for the thousandth time that night, as the two of them stood in the gazebo in the garden, clutching to one another desperately, Minseok couldn’t help but feel lost.

Because this wasn’t fair at all.

* * *

 **Meg’s Notes:** Fun fact: this chapter was put down as a “filler” in the first outline, and here we are, after a world of angst. It’s lovely. Or at least, we think it is lovely. You, dear reader, might have other choice words for us (shameless encouragement for comments). But we are super happy with this chapter and the emotional development of the characters in this one <3 even if it kind of hurts. _And we aren’t even close to being done yet._ *maniacal cackle* Anyways, we hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading (and subbing and commenting and what have you). We love you all for checking this story out  <3

 **Nat’s Notes:** Fun fact: I have no fun facts this time around! And yes, as Meg said, this was supposed to be a filler. A filler that turned into ~13.000 words of more character development than we meant to include and an impromptu not-quite-fight between one of the main pairings… Eh. Ooops? But if this hurts (which I hope, because that means we’re doing _something_ right), just wait for the next chapter. If that won’t hurt, just a teensy tiny bit, we fail as writers and might as well pack our stuff and take our leave.

Yesh… Hope you enjoyed this long chapter! I fear future chapters will be long, too. Oh, well. You’ll survive, right? Unlike others. Comments are deeply loved and cared for, as are subs and kudos and whatever you can think of! As Meg said (wrote), we love you all for sticking with us <3

 

Lastly, have this not-at-all-suspicious list: Luhan, Chanyeol, Ren, Taemin, Jiyong, Daehyun and Henry.

 

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 8!


	9. One Caring, Honest, Smart and Brave

The day before Minseok’s birthday was surprisingly quiet.

He had woken at dawn like normal, following Jongdae to the stables with hardly a word between them, though Jongdae had linked their hands the moment they stepped into the stables, giving his fingers a firm squeeze before they got to work. And they worked as they usually did, laughing from time to time as they spoke in light voices, conversations steered in a much less depressing mood than the night before.

They had a few extra duties, after the festival, including giving the garden staff a hand with removing the decorations, but with so many workers, the job went smoothly. And they all talked cheerfully to one another, discussing the festivities with soft, wishful words, wondering what it would have been like to join in with the partygoers.

At lunch, they met the others in the staff quarters, Junmyeon and Yifan and Yixing joining in as they had done since Minseok arrived. Junmyeon had greeted him with a tight smile, his eyes weak as he looked at him, too much worry and stress held in the corners of his gaze. And Jongdae had quickly stepped in with a story, telling them all how one of the nobles had been caught walking aimlessly through the gardens last night, drunk and half-clothed and telling tales of his experiences in the Nightshade Rebellion that were more than likely false. But it had them all laughing loudly at the account, tears in their eyes as Jongdae reenacted the whole thing with staggered steps and slurred words.

Minseok and Jongdae had disappeared to the stables after lunch, Junmyeon adamant that they meet again for dinner, and they had agreed, once all of their work was done. It flew by, their tasks, and Minseok gave Lay a gentle pat on the nose as they left for dinner, the horse lipping at his hand in affection.

Dinner, unlike their earlier meal, held a more somber tone. The main entertainers, being the stable hand and the prince, had apparently run out of words. Both Jongdae and Junmyeon had fallen quiet, exchanging wordless expressions and coming to the same conclusion that Minseok had known they would reach. Nothing had been found to break his curse.

But no one else was aware of that, so Minseok played his part. He joined in with Zitao and Chanyeol when they began to comment on how Yifan had been drawn to the armor last night, even reaching out at one point to trace the patterns with his fingers, something the young lord denied profusely. He questioned Yixing on Junmyeon’s studies at the moment, fascinated by the poem they had been reading, and smiling softly when Yixing promised to show him the poem tomorrow, offering to teach him a little bit as well. He answered the questions he was given and asked his own in return, and when the conversations didn’t involve him he sat back and just listened. Listened to the buzz of voices in the small dining room, the laughter that reached him from other sections of the table, and just took it all in with a small smile. It was different from the silence of the woods, but no less welcome. He had grown to enjoy this energetic atmosphere.

And when he left with Jongdae to head back to the stable hand’s quarters, he knew he was going to miss it.

They bathed in the washrooms separately, changing into linen bottoms and loose sleep shirts before settling in for the night.

Minseok turned the lock on the door and paused at the finality of the action, how heavy the click of the latch echoed in his thoughts. He had been locking doors to keep shadows out for years now, but this one felt empty. Pointless. But he shoved the thoughts away, turning with a deep breath through his nose and walking further into the home.

Jongdae had disappeared into one of the bedrooms, and Minseok had stationed himself at a desk in the corner, smiling at the nearly finished horse figurine he had been carving for the last few days. He had been meaning to put the final details on the small statue and gift it to Jongdae, but something about the roughness, the wildness of the structure as it was had him stopping. It was different from his usually smooth figurines, but it fit the nature of the horse better, this barely contained energy.

And it fit the man he was meaning to give it to, as well.

Jongdae emerged from the back after a few minutes, smiling softly as he spotted Minseok.

“Your hair has gotten longer since you’ve been here.”

Minseok reached up, chuckling as he toyed with the strands that sat atop his head. He hadn’t cut it in a while, and the hair was much longer than he was used to, to the point where he had taken to tying the top of it back while he worked to keep it out of his face. He didn’t necessarily like it this long, always having favored a shorter cut for practical reasons. But he hadn’t felt the need to sit down with a knife and cut it since he had been at the castle. There just didn’t seem to be a purpose for it when he had better uses for his time.

“I can let you cut it, if it pleases you,” he responded playfully, watching Jongdae laugh at the words.

“Maybe later,” he replied, before seeming to understand the implication of the words. The smile that curled his lips dropped automatically, and Minseok _hated_ it. He hated being the cause of that, and being looked at with such pity. He didn’t need pity. He needed time.

But time, it seemed, was the only thing he didn’t have.

Regardless, he smiled at the younger man, standing up from the desk and stretching with a soft groan.

“It’s getting late,” he mused, scratching at his chest through his shirt. “Perhaps we should go to bed. The horses will be upset with us if we oversleep their breakfast.”

He went to move past Jongdae, only for the stable hand to reach out and stop him, his hand warm as it wrapped around his wrist.

“Seok,” he called, and Minseok looked despite knowing what he would see. Jongdae was peering up at him with hesitation and worry, and he was honestly surprised it took him this long to speak up about what happened last night in the garden. Neither had mentioned it once they returned to the stables, though Minseok had watched Jongdae fight with it all day. This desire to speak, but a reluctance to do so. It was as if he were afraid of what to say, afraid of how Minseok would respond. But seeing as he could hardly look at Minseok, it was fairly clear that he was second-guessing his actions. Which was fine. He _should_ second-guess. He should back out while he still could, before he could no longer do so, before their emotions hurt him permanently.

Minseok had hoped he would just remain silent, would let things lie as they were. But now it seemed Jongdae was ready to talk.

And Minseok didn’t think he could handle it right now.

“Jongdae, it’s late,” he tried again, keeping his voice low and soothing. “We don’t have to talk about this tonight.”

“Yes, we do,” Jongdae argued back, frowning at the words. “We have to. I _want_ to. What happened last night, I -”

Minseok cut in, already anticipating the apology he was sure would follow that statement. “You don’t need to do this. I don’t blame you for anything. And I understand, so please, let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Jongdae was already shaking his head before Minseok could finish, his hand wrapping tighter around the man’s wrist. “No, Minseok. That’s not what I wanted to say.”

He took a deep breath, his voice coming out soft and slow, every word thought out. “I don’t regret last night. And I _don’t_ want to forget it.”

“Then what is there to say?” Minseok whispered, his brows drawing together in confusion.

Jongdae smiled sadly at the man, pausing for only a second before leaning up and sealing his mouth over Minseok’s.

The kiss was soft, fleeting, just as their first had been. Hardly a press of the lips. Just enough for Minseok to recognize the action for what it was. When Jongdae pulled back, it was only far enough to meet Minseok’s gaze, searching his eyes and sorting through the plethora of emotions Minseok knew could be seen in his features. But that determination from the night before was back in his eyes, and the purpose of the kiss slid into place in Minseok’s mind slowly, painfully.

“We shouldn’t,” Minseok whispered.

The hand that reached up to slide over his cheek had a trembling sigh leaving him, and he forced himself to remain still instead of leaning into the other’s palm like he wanted. Jongdae saw the way he fought himself, the way he held back, and the younger man steeled his expression.

“I don’t care.”

“Jongdae,” the older man warned, reaching up to gently remove his hand, holding both of his hands between them as he spoke. “Stop this.”

The stable hand hesitated before shaking his head sharply, his jaw clenched as he answered. “I will not.”

When Jongdae shook off his hold and reached out again, Minseok stepped back, instinctively trying to keep the other away and bumping into the desk behind him with the movement, rattling the objects that sat atop it.

But Jongdae was relentless, stepping forward into his space and catching Minseok by the shirt. With a gentle tug, he brought Minseok closer, wrapping an arm around the man's waist. Jongdae's nose bumped his cheek affectionately, lovingly, and Minseok shuddered.

“ _Jongdae_.”

"It's okay," Jongdae assured, letting his lips linger against Minseok’s skin. "I want this. I want _you_."

“I can’t,” Minseok insisted softly, shaking his head as he held onto the desk behind him instead of reaching out to Jongdae like he wanted. “Dae, I can’t.”

“You can, and you shall,” Jongdae whispered, covering his mouth with his own, each word another caress to his lips. “This curse has already taken so much from you. I will not allow it to take this from you as well. I will not allow the curse to take _me_ away from you, even if we can only have each other for a little while.”

He pressed firmer with his kiss, Minseok breathing harshly through his nose as his face contorted in pain, not physical, but emotional. As much as his heart and body wanted to give in to Jongdae’s advances, his mind was roaring in protest. He knew this was not the time, but when would he have this again? He _had_ no time. It was now, or never, and Minseok burned with the desire to hold Jongdae in his arms, to write his affections across his skin with his lips and fingers. But he also knew what this would do to the other man when he was gone. This was only going to make things more difficult than they already were, more painful for both of them.

But Jongdae gave him no room to argue, trailing his fingers down the front of Minseok’s shirt as he licked into Minseok’s mouth again, pushing his hips into the other’s with clear intentions.

“Minseok, please,” he whimpered, growing impatient with the lack of response as desperation bled into his pleas, and the older man caved.

When Minseok finally reached forward to take a hold of Jongdae’s hips, pulling him flush against him, Jongdae moaned. The stable hand was given no time to recover as Minseok surged forward, one hand still on his hip as the other reached up to bury in his hair, tugging Jongdae’s head this way and that as he deepened the kiss, tasting all he could of the younger man. And Jongdae welcomed the kiss with eagerness, sucking Minseok’s bottom lip into his mouth and pulling a groan from the other.

Once he had allowed it, he couldn’t hold back, and he drank Jongdae in readily, until he was forced to retreat for air. He allowed his hands to explore as he attached his lips to Jongdae’s neck, fingertips mapping paths across his shoulder blades, down his back, along his sides, until they found his thighs and tugged the man up and forward. Jongdae took the cue, wrapping his legs around a strong waist. As much as Minseok could give in right there, take Jongdae against the desk, the stable hand deserved much more. So with strong strides, he moved through the house to Jongdae’s bedroom.

As eager as he was, Minseok took his time removing each article of clothing after laying Jongdae on the mattress, revealing more of the stable hand to his eyes with every piece taken away. Each new patch of skin was lavished with his mouth and hands, until Jongdae’s skin was covered in goosebumps and pink marks, sensitive to every swipe of Minseok’s hand.

Jongdae was much quicker in his conquests, hands pushing the fabric of Minseok’s shirt away impatiently, followed by his pants. When he had gotten Minseok completely nude, his hands roamed with purpose, stroking and scratching and pulling Minseok closer, always closer. Not away like he should. And the knowledge that he was wanted had Minseok more urgent, kissing his lips over and over again.

“Oil,” Minseok whispered against Jongdae’s mouth. ”Where?”

Jongdae nearly whined at the words, knowing it would mean a pause in their explorations of one another, but nodded, squirming out from underneath Minseok and to the edge of the bed. There was a small shelf against the wall, and he reached towards the jars closest to the bed, retrieving an olive green colored ceramic. Minseok couldn’t leave Jongdae alone as he retrieved the jar, kissing along his shoulder blades and relishing the tremor it sent down Jongdae’s spine.

Jongdae pressed the jar into Minseok’s hands, smiling softly up at him with hooded eyes as he crawled up to push his back into the pillows near the top of the bed. With a flush of his skin, part arousal and part embarrassment, he let his legs fall open and pushed his chest out, displaying himself for Minseok’s gaze. He was all tanned skin stretched over lean, defined muscles, the slightest touch of pink scattered across his chest and cheekbones as he let his neck be bared, and Minseok groaned at the sight, sliding along the sheets until he was between Jongdae’s legs.

Jongdae shivered as Minseok’s hands fell to his thighs, wiggling slightly as fingers danced along his skin, and Minseok shushed him softly.

“You are stunning,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to Jongdae’s jaw, then neck, then collarbone. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

Jongdae laughed lightly at the words, but the sound broke off in a moan as Minseok circled one nipple with his tongue. Fingers fell to Minseok’s hair, twisting the dark strands in a strong grip as the older man continued to worship Jongdae’s chest, sucking a dark bruise just above where Minseok could feel the thumping on his heart.

“ _Minseok_ ,” he whined, and the other answered that call, dipping his fingers into the jar and reaching between them to rub the slick substance across Jongdae’s entrance.

With an achingly slow pace he forced himself to use, Minseok slid one finger in, groaning at the sigh that tumbled from Jongdae’s lips. He was thorough, stretching Jongdae until he could take three fingers and was thrusting down for more, chest heaving with the effort to stay still.

“Oh, God,” Jongdae said between pants, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. “Please, Minseok. No more waiting. _Please_.”

Minseok withdrew his hand, swiping more oil from the jar and coating his cock, hissing at the sensation before positioning himself once more between the other’s legs. Jongdae scooted closer, legs bracketing Minseok’s hips as he reached forward to seal their mouths once more, and Minseok could feel his chest swelling with his emotions for this man. It was too much, far too much for him to hold in.

He pulled back, waiting until Jongdae opened his eyes to look at him, because he wanted Jongdae to hear him. He wanted to see the words settling into his mind and heart. With slow, careful movements, he let his fingers drag across Jongdae’s cheek, thumb rubbing the arch of his cheekbone as he spoke.

“I love you,” Minseok said softly, hovering over Jongdae’s face as he said the words. “I love you more than I have loved anything else in this world.”

Jongdae’s eyes widened just a fraction, before softening, a bright smile crossing his features as he stared up at Minseok in adoration, and he turned his head to kiss Minseok’s fingers lightly, lingering there for a moment before nuzzling into his hand once more. “I love you, too.”

He pressed another kiss to Minseok’s palm, before leaning up to kiss his mouth once again, words whispered against his lips.

“And I am yours.”

Minseok shuddered at the words, even as warmth spread through his chest and settled somewhere behind his ribs. _Yes_ , his mind whispered. _This_ was his. _Jongdae_ was his.

With one swift, careful motion, he pressed forward, seating himself in Jongdae’s welcome heat. It was a connection like he never felt before, and it took everything in him to remain still, to let Jongdae adjust. And Jongdae seemed much the same, his hands relentless in their travels, trailing up his chest, across his shoulders, down his arms and back up. Loving but eager touches, as if Jongdae were using the pads of his fingers to map every inch of him while he had him in his reach, as if Minseok were something to be cherished, held close.

And it was then that Minseok’s emotions betrayed him. Overwhelmed him.

_No_. _Not now._ Minseok had been expecting his emotions to overtake him eventually, waiting all day for something to trigger his heart to break, but why did it have to be right now? He couldn’t do this to Jongdae. He couldn’t let him carry this burden with him, watch him fall apart and try to put him back together, because who would pick Jongdae back up tomorrow when he was gone?

It wasn’t fair. _None of this was fair._ And he grinded his teeth as he fought the tears, _refusing_ to let them surface.

But when the emotions hit him as he hovered over Jongdae’s form that lay stretched out beneath him, they hit hard. He clutched at the sheets beneath them, knuckles white from exertion, and ducked his head as the first few tears slipped from his eyes, not wanting Jongdae to see. A shaky breath followed, a shudder ripping through his frame as he tried to keep himself together. He was still fighting it when a warm hand fell to the back of his neck, a thumb tracing the vertebrae down and then back up.

He looked up through blurred vision just in time to watch the sad smile make its way across Jongdae’s features. Understanding. Accepting, like Minseok was worthy of his affection, like he wasn’t the reason they were in so much pain. When he choked down another breath, the younger man shushed him gently, pulling him down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pushing their foreheads together.

Words were whispered against his lips, and Minseok swallowed each phrase with a trembling breath.

“ _It’s alright.”_

_“I’m right here.”_

_“I love you.”_

The hand on his neck followed his spine down, gripping the small of his back as Jongdae pulled him closer, and Minseok couldn’t hold back any longer. He buried his face in Jongdae’s neck and began to thrust, the tears picking up with each forward movement.

He listened to Jongdae’s panting breath, determined to let that be his guide. Even as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks, he threw himself into pleasing the man below him. The man he loved, and would lose. But the man who was his _right now_ , if only for a little while.

He tried to keep his face in the junction of Jongdae’s neck and shoulder, but Jongdae would not allow him to hide himself away. He was pulled back up, Jongdae’s legs hitched up around his hips and holding him close as they moved, the younger’s hips lifting to meet every thrust given. Minseok could see every feeling of desire as it flickered across his face, watching the man’s eyes flutter shut, his chin tilting up to expose a beautiful neck. Minseok acted on instinct alone, mouthing along the veins he found there and working his way up over his jaw, his chin, until their lips connected once more.

He was tired of the dread, of the waiting. He was tired of dwelling on the unfair circumstances that surrounded his life. All he wanted right now was to feel Jongdae beneath him, to feel the beat of the younger man’s heart so strongly that he would mistake it for his own. Of all the things that fate would take away from him, Jongdae was not one of them. This would forever be his.

“Minseok,” the man whimpered below him, crying out at a particularly well-aimed roll of his hips, and Minseok increased his efforts tenfold. Harder, faster, deeper, until Jongdae was writhing on the sheets, every breath ending in a moan as he shook in Minseok’s hold. The pressure of Jongdae’s fingers as they dug into the skin of his back, paired with the push of his heels into the curve of his spine, was enough encouragement to keep him focused.

Jongdae first. Jongdae would always be first, in Minseok’s eyes. And their peaks were no different.

When he wrapped his hand around Jongdae's cock, working his fingers up and down at the same pace of his thrusts, the stable hand could hold back no longer. Trembling, Jongdae fell over the edge, a broken representation of Minseok’s name leaving his lips as he spilled his seed between them. The younger’s own tears leaked from his the corners of his eyes, though whether from pleasure or sorrow, Minseok was not sure, and the older man kisses them away quickly.

Jongdae’s body fluttered around Minseok’s cock, before going lax in his hold, and Minseok could only produce a handful of even thrusts before he, too, was meeting his end, vision blown white with the force, Jongdae’s mouth tracing the lines of his shoulder.

Calloused hands caught him as he fell, his body giving way to the weight that he held day to day, and Jongdae didn’t complain. Never complained. He gathered him in his warmth, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as Minseok’s chest heaved, becoming erratic. When Jongdae pushed his face into Minseok’s neck and kissed the sweat-slicked skin he found there, the older man broke completely, his frame shaking with sobs as Jongdae joined in despite the effort to comfort him, hushing him even as his own sobs caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Minseok whispered, nosing the shoulder beneath him, now damp with both sweat and tears. "I'm so sorry."

For once, Jongdae did not have an answer to give, shaking his head as he pushed closer still, arms wrapping tightly around Minseok's waist. But the actions were louder than any response Jongdae could have said as he tethered himself to the older man and breathed. He was still crying, still breaking under the weight of Minseok's circumstances, but his grip never wavered. And Minseok was swept up in the implications of that hold, refusing to move from the warmth of Jongdae's arms.

Fate couldn’t take this from him. It couldn’t take Jongdae’s sarcastic comebacks or teasing smiles. It couldn’t take the slide of his palm along his back, the press of his lips against his. It couldn’t take bright laughter or adoring looks, or soft words of love and acceptance.

But it hurt all the same.

-

Jongdae could have easily said it was the sunrise that woke him that morning, but he had been awake much longer than the sun.

When the first pink rays of light began to bleed into the sky, chasing away the night as they filtered through the window, Jongdae had been awake for more than an hour. Or, at least, his mind had been. His body had yet to move, too content in the warmth of Minseok against his back, the security of the other man’s arm around his waist, the steadiness of the man’s breath against his neck as he slept. He didn’t want to wake Minseok. Not yet. Not today.

In the very first moments of consciousness, he had felt nothing but joy. Waking up wrapped in Minseok’s embrace, his body heavy with sleep and sated from the night before, left his mind and heart at ease. It felt _right_ to be there, in that moment, and a lazy smile had crossed his face as he melted further into the other’s hold. But soon, reality began to dissolve that blissful haze in his mind, and the day’s significance hit him, jolting him to full awareness as if struck by lightning.

Minseok’s birthday was today. Which meant his time, according to the curse, was up.

Jongdae had done well to ignore the man’s approaching death. He had, like always, chosen to look for the bright side of things, to tell himself that all was well. Minseok was not the cursed prince. Minseok was just Minseok, and Jongdae loved him. And he loved Jongdae back. And that should be enough for his heart to be at ease.

But it wasn’t. Of that, Jongdae was painfully aware.

He couldn’t find the light in the dark this time, couldn’t see the positives. Because what was there to look forward to, today? What was there to help quiet the pain? Minseok was alive, but for how long? He had held his breath at the sight of the sun, because would it be now? Would he suddenly vanish from his hold, heave out a shuddering sigh before that breath stopped completely? It was only after the sliver of light peeked from behind the tree line that he recalled the lines of the curse, talk of a needle, and let his body relax back into Minseok once more. But when? When would he be taken from him?

Even knowing he was loved by this man, whom he loved in return, did nothing to help the tightness in his chest. Because he knew his love would not be a saving grace for Minseok. The curse cared not for the love of a stable hand.

Jongdae had held his emotions throughout the last month, refusing to show Minseok how much he truly hurt from all of this. It was not a burden Minseok needed, seeing how his heart ached every day as Junmyeon continued to come up empty in his search for a cure, and to spare the man further pain, he had shut it away and smiled. Like always. After all, this was who he wanted Minseok to remember. A smiling version of himself. A man who laughed and teased and loved him fully. Not someone broken.

But today, he found it hard to keep himself together, and as the sun crept into the sky, it was harder to hold on.

He fought it, though. He clenched his jaw, swallowing around the emotion that threatened to stick in his throat, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. In and out. But his body shook with every intake of air, growing more ragged with every passing moment. Tears worked their way into the corners of his eyes, and he bit his lips to stop the whimper that wanted to slip free, pleading with his body to just hold out a little while longer.

But that was before Minseok woke.

The kiss pressed to the base of his neck startled a gasp out of him, the arm winding tighter around his torso when he tensed in the man’s hold. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder, afraid that his thoughts would be all too clear in his gaze, but he squeezed the man’s arm gently, returning the embrace as best he could.

“Good morning,” Minseok whispered, pressing the words into the man’s shoulder, lips trailing along the smooth skin.

Jongdae didn’t trust himself to speak, only giving a hum in response that sounded weak, even to him. And for a moment, they only laid side by side, breathing in the quiet of the dawn and exchanging lazy, mindless touches.

But then Minseok nosed into his neck with a heavy sigh, pressing closer to the man in his arms. When he spoke next, the words were hardly there, lost in the sadness that accompanied them, but Jongdae heard them loud and clear.

“Happy birthday to me.”

And Jongdae broke.

The sobs hit him hard in the chest, enough to have him curling in on himself, his lungs burning as he tried to get air even as his body forced it back out in horrible cries that he desperately attempted to stifle. He tried to move away from the other, tried to hide the reaction, to cover his face with his hands and block out the rest of the world, but Minseok held him tighter, keeping Jongdae anchored against his chest as the stable hand cried. And Jongdae hated himself for this, for adding his name to Minseok’s list of people that had been hurt by the curse. He was proving how weak he was, how much his emotional attachment hurt him, what Minseok had feared all along and what Jongdae had stubbornly denied would come to pass. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t what he was meant to be for Minseok. He had to be strong, to show him it was all worth it. He didn’t regret a moment of time he had spent with Minseok, no matter how short. But he couldn’t help it as more sobs ripped from his chest, threatening to tear him apart if they weren’t set free. So he gave in to his sorrow and wept.

He turned in Minseok’s hold, burying himself further in his arms as he pulled him impossibly closer, tangling himself in the other’s limbs, Minseok answering by tugging him in just as eagerly. Jongdae’s body was enveloped by the other man, and yet is was still not close enough, and he clung tighter as another cry left his lips, Minseok’s hand holding the back of his head as he whispered calming words into his ear. Words that should have been saved for himself, because Jongdae was not the one who was meant to die today.

It took more effort than he thought he possessed to stop his tears, to let his heart rate fall back to a reasonable speed, his breathing easier as he tucked himself into the other. But once he had control of his emotions again, knew that the worst of his breakdown was over for the moment, he spoke.

“Can I be by your side?” he whispered, his voice harsh and guttural from being strained.

He didn’t have to elaborate for Minseok to know what he was asking, that he wanted to be there when the time came. But he expected the answering shake of the other’s head even before he had finished his question, having anticipated the refusal.

“Not this time,” Minseok murmured, ducking to place a kiss against Jongdae’s temple, and _God,_ Jongdae’s chest ached with the action. But he didn’t refute the answer, because this was not his decision to make. And he knew, deep down, that his presence would only make things much harder for Minseok, that he would want to step in, unable to sit by and watch the life leave his eyes. Would he want to be there, to watch Minseok lose control over his actions and give in to a curse? No. He didn’t think he could handle such a thing, at least not passively. And Minseok couldn’t handle having him there to see it.

As Jongdae’s thoughts buzzed in his mind, Minseok tilted his chin up with his finger, sealing his mouth over his in a simple, lingering kiss, before turning them both again to face the window, drawing the younger man back into his arms as he nuzzled the skin behind his ear.

“I want to watch the sunrise with you,” he said in a hushed tone, his fingers stroking the soft skin of Jongdae’s belly. And Jongdae allowed the request with a small nod, threading their fingers together.

He wished, more than anything, that he could do something. That he could take away Minseok’s pain somehow, take it as his own. _Anything_ to spare Minseok, who didn’t deserve this fate, who would be taken from him due to no fault of his own.

But he couldn’t, didn’t know _how_.

With a heavy heart and swollen eyes, he melted back into the man’s form to watch the sunrise unfold, scarlets and coppers and golds filling the sky in a brilliant display as the sun finally, _finally,_ banished the dark.

Their last sunrise together.

-

Junmyeon was out of time, even if he were refusing to accept that fact. Minseok’s birthday was nearing its end, and when the day was done, he would not get it back.

Though he was not happy with the sudden distance that had appeared between him and Yixing, he was thankful for the newfound privacy, and the work it allowed him to do without his advisor’s curious gaze over his shoulder. He had buried himself in books, in old scrolls, in dusty parchments, in myths and literature, _anything_ he could get his hands on that could give him an answer. A cure.

But as the days passed, as he hit one dead end after the other, he grew increasingly desperate and frustrated. He chose to forego dinners, whenever his friends and, in some cases, his parents, did not force him to attend, to pour over his research instead, chose that over mending his friendship with Yixing, because it could wait. _His_ problems could wait. _He_ would have time to address those issues after all this.

Minseok, however, did not have more time. And Junmyeon had not gotten any closer to finding a cure, to saving him like he said he would. He had sat for hours straight, glaring at the piece of paper with Minseok’s fate written down in ink and mockery, but had been unable to get anywhere with it, no matter how many times he read the lines, no matter how much he tried to find the chip in the curse’s defense.

And now the day had come.

It had gotten harder to look Minseok in the eyes when they met, and the words they had exchanged since Minseok’s arrival at the castle had been few and far in-between as his brother regained his health, a fact Junmyeon lamented. But he had to prioritize the time he had left. Whilst he wished to spend hours getting to know his brother, to laugh about how similar they were with some things and how different they were with others, to learn his interests, his passions, he simply could not do that. They could talk _after_ Junmyeon found a cure. Because he would, he had promised himself, had promised _Minseok_.

And he still had a few, precious hours to find a way to break the curse. It wasn’t over. Not yet. And Junmyeon would be damned if he didn’t fight until the curse met its end.

He realized, however, that despite this self-imposed solitude, he would need help. With how little time he had left, he could not afford to do this alone anymore. Not when he was grasping at air and having nothing to show for it. He needed fresh eyes, and a sharp mind. He needed someone else’s input, even if he had to make up an excuse for _why_.

Which was why he was now standing in front of the doors leading to the library.

During the past month, he had often isolated himself in the library, and Yixing had more often than not been nearby, although not close enough to bother Junmyeon. The advisor was keeping space between them, though lingered to the side, because he was still Junmyeon’s advisor and was required to be at hand for most things, even if Junmyeon did not call on him. He hoped Yixing would be somewhere in the library this time, too, because he needed his friend’s guidance. And unlike the past month, he wasn’t going to let Yixing’s help go to waste.

Despite everything, though, he froze in the doorway when he saw Yixing standing in front of one of the shelves, appearing deeply immersed in the book in his hands. The man had probably read every book in this library, twice, but he never grew tired of the texts.

Junmyeon sincerely wanted to fix whatever had gone wrong between the two of them, and seeing his friend just made that need all the more urgent. The tension between them frustrated him, and he had never felt so far away from Yixing before. It hurt, this feeling that something in their relationship had been lost.

But, he reminded himself, he had more pressing matters at the moment, and he shook away those thoughts. He could address them later.

It did not make his approach any easier, though. Walking up behind Yixing, he hesitantly cleared his throat to gain the other’s attention.

“Pardon me, Yixing… Have you time on your hands to lend me your guidance?”

Yixing startled, glancing back over his shoulder before looking back at his book, placing a mark on the page. “Of course, Your Highness. How can I help?”

_Your Highness_. Junmyeon was used to Yixing refusing to call him by name, but it had never stung quite as much as it did now. The distance between them made the formality Yixing insisted on using with him much colder than it used to be. Or perhaps it was Yixing’s tone that added that chill, calm and without any emotion.

“I, uh… Kyungsoo assigned me with the task of studying curses and myths for the next lesson,” he explained, having quickly made up an excuse before entering the library. “He handed me a specific curse and told me to analyze it, but it is proving rather difficult. You have always been better with words, so perhaps you could take a look at it?”

“A curse?” Yixing repeated with a frown.

“From the Nightshade Rebellion, it seems,” Junmyeon confirmed with a small nod, hoping his voice remained even as he spoke.

For all the times Yixing had caught him in a lie on the first try, he didn’t seem to recognize Junmyeon’s deception this time. Whether that was from Junmyeon purposely telling half-truths, or from the reluctance Yixing had for meeting his gaze fully, Junmyeon wasn’t sure. But either way, his advisor huffed out a small laugh, turning around to face him. “I am not so sure I will be much help, but I will certainly try. Do you have your assignment with you?”

“Ah, yes.” Junmyeon reached into his pocket, pulling forth the well-used parchment Minseok had given him back at the cottage all those days ago and handed it to Yixing, ignoring the brush of the other’s fingers along his own. “Here it is.”

Yixing took the parchment with a small smile pulling at his lips. “You know, this is an odd lesson for Kyungsoo. I had thought his discussion of the Nightshade Rebellion would be over, by now. And to translate a curse seems… very creative for him.”

Junmyeon bit into his lower lip, belatedly realizing that Kyungsoo and Yixing were both tutors and would often collaborate with their lessons. But Yixing did not seem certain about the history lessons, so Junmyeon stuck with his explanation, donning a nonchalant look and shrugging as he replied, “I do not know what goes through his head most of the time, and I am not about to question it.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Yixing, not appearing to have noticed Junmyeon’s inner turmoil as he unfolded the parchment. “Indeed. He is known to change up his tactics from time to time, depending on his interests.”

Junmyeon nodded quickly, relieved that Yixing did not seem to suspect anything. “And those interests have been rather fleeting, recently. We have done many odd assignments.”

He watched as Yixing’s eyes slid over the words on the parchment, a stiff smile on his lips as he said, sounding slightly distracted, “As long as he does not turn you into a sorcerer, it is best to do as he asks.”

Junmyeon hummed, a smile of amusement finding its way to his features. It was all too easy to fall into the trap of familiarity, of what used to be. “You know how he is. That might just be his intention. To teach me dark magic in guise of analyzing curses to take over the throne.”

Yixing snorted. “As if you would need such power, as the crown prince. Besides, even if you were to possess such dark magic, you would not have the heart to use it.”

The prince blinked, looking at Yixing in surprise at the joking tone, and then huffed in mock affront. “I beg your pardon. I would make a _brilliant_ dark sorcerer.”

It had been a long time, really, since Junmyeon had last heard Yixing laugh. And although his laughter was light, it still filled Junmyeon with a sense of longing, because he had missed it greatly. At the same time, it was not often Yixing willingly met his eyes anymore, yet he did so now.

“If you insist,” he mused, looking every bit like the Yixing Junmyeon had known for years, but then the smile fell and the advisor cleared his throat, and Junmyeon was left wanting that smile back. But it was gone as Yixing looked back down at the curse, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “So, tell me. What is it that you must do with this curse?”

And once again, Junmyeon was reminded of why he was here. He could not allow himself to lament the distance between them when his brother’s seconds were slipping away as they spoke.

“The curse…” He bit his lip. “I must find its weakness. How it works.” He hesitated, before quickly adding, “A way to break it.”

Yixing hummed in thought, remaining quiet for a while as he read the curse closely. Then, he spoke, “Well, this one would be tough to break.”

“But it _can_ be broken, can it not?” Junmyeon asked, insistently as he wrung his hands. He did not like the vague answer.

“In theory _,_ every curse can be broken.” The advisor bit his lip in contemplation, shaking his head as his fingers traced one of the lines. “But this line here, about the curse bearer's parents, is where the strength lies. It is targeting the person through their own heritage, and thus is hard to overcome.”

“What does that _mean_ , Yixing?” Junmyeon was seconds away from gripping at his hair in frustration. He did not have time for another dead end, and desperation welled up in him, because he was so sure there was a way. There had to be _something_. “Are you saying it cannot be broken? There _has_ to be a way to break this one, right?”

Yixing’s frown deepened, and he tapped the parchment with his finger. Yet again, he was unable to help the prince, and it had his own frustrations rising. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but until someone can change their blood, this curse is permanent. I wish there were more I could tell you.”

Junmyeon waved him off, shaking his head as he pondered. He had hoped Yixing could help, but, it seemed, this curse was close to impossible to break. If not even Yixing could help…

But he couldn’t give up. He _couldn’t._

“All curses can be broken; you said so yourself,” he pressed. “We are simply not looking hard enough.”

Yixing folded his arms over his chest tightly, avoiding Junmyeon’s gaze. “Perhaps it is not an issue of looking, but of _seeing_ , Your Highness,” he muttered under his breath.

Junmyeon shook his head again, pursing his lips as he shifted through his thoughts, hardly noticing the dejected tone Yixing had used. “ _Seeing._ I _am seeing_. I have done nothing but -”

He cut himself off, eyes widening, and he turned around on the spot, blinking at a curious Yixing. “Could I have another look at the curse?”

Yixing passed the parchment to him wordlessly, now appearing confused, but Junmyeon was too taken by his realization to really notice the advisor’s reaction.

His eyes scanned the lines of the curse, skimming rapidly. It was the same words that he had studied for weeks, and yet they were not, because he could _see_ it now.

Yixing leaned closer, taken aback by Junmyeon’s sudden change in behavior. “Your Highness?”

Junmyeon startled, snapped out of his thoughts, and looked at Yixing. He blinked at his advisor as his mind tried to catch up to what had been said. “What?”

Yixing nodded towards the curse in Junmyeon’s hands, wetting his lips. “Have you found what you were searching for? For your assignment?”

“Oh.” Junmyeon shook his head to clear his mind. “I apologize. I seemed to have gotten lost in my own head.” His eyes fell to the words on the parchment, his fingers tightening slightly on the page. “I… I think so. I hope so.”

A sad smile spread across Yixing’s features, more a grimace than anything else. “You see, Your Highness? You hardly needed my guidance on this. You underestimate your own potential, it seems.”

Junmyeon observed him silently, sensing something _there_ , but he didn’t reach out to understand. He did not have time. “Yixing, friend, I have been unable to figure this one out until I came here. I just had to… see it with fresh eyes _._ ”

Yixing’s smile faltered, but only for a split second. “Yes, and just in time for dinner. You did not eat much last night, you know, and you have been looking thinner. Do we need to make a visit to my father to make sure you are not falling ill? Our friend Xiumin was just battling an illness, after all.”

The smile that Junmyeon wore was bitter, because Minseok had battled - was _still_ battling - something far worse than a simple illness. But he quickly schooled his features into a happier grin, and nodded slightly. “You worry too much, Yixing. I am fine.”

“Just because I am your advisor, does not mean I am heartless. I always worry for you,” Yixing said softly, flipping the cover of his own book open once more.

Junmyeon tilted his head, watching his friend of many years. The smile on his lips felt a little more honest, then. “More than my advisor, you are my friend.”

He paused, then added, “I will forego dining with my parents this evening in favor of eating with you.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” his advisor said with a faint smile, looking only briefly at Junmyeon before returning his attention to the words in front of him.

Junmyeon nodded, the corners of his lips remaining upturned, but fading a bit. He shuffled on his feet, before turned to walk back to the door. He stopped there, however, a hand on the frame. A moment later, he looked back, eyes distant as they fixed on Yixing’s form. “Call me Junmyeon.”

Yixing looked up from the book, perplexed at the words. “Pardon?”

“Call me Junmyeon,” the prince repeated, the words clear in the quiet that fell between them.

Yixing hesitated, mouth opening and closing, as though trying to find his words. “I… Your Highness, I do not think -”

“ _Please,_ ” Junmyeon cut in. “Just this once.”

Junmyeon watched as Yixing took a breath, seemed to start, before changing his mind. The smallest of smiles touched his lips instead, resigned, and Junmyeon could already feel his heart dropping. “I will see you at dinner, Your Highness.”

The prince faltered and he looked away. A faint smile found its way to his expression, and he let his shoulders sag for the briefest of moments, before taking a deep breath, his chin held high as he spoke again. “... See you at dinner, Nightingale.”

The door closed behind him, but Yixing’s eyes never strayed from where Junmyeon had stood just seconds ago. Aware that he was now alone in the great library, he quietly said to no one what he had wanted to say to the prince, “See you then, Junmyeon.”

The thorns tightened their hold on his chest, and he forced his gaze away from the door. This was for the best, not only for himself, but for Junmyeon as well. He had to keep his barriers in place, never let them slip again.

But he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed as he added a whispered,

“Rose.”

-

Minseok felt the magic’s tug just before dinner. It happened as he washed the dirt and grime from the stables off his face, this pang in his chest, soft but determined, and he froze.

He had wondered, more often than he probably should have, how it would come to claim him. Kou had given him vague accounts he had heard of curses in the years before the ban of magic, talk of people losing their minds, completely given over to the curse’s control. But all Minseok really felt was a slight pull in his chest, one that nudged him to move. He hadn’t lost control of his body, and was completely aware of his surroundings, of his thoughts. For now.

As he shook the excess water from his hands, he didn’t know which he would have preferred. Because with that tug came the realization of what he must now do, and the pain that it entailed.

Especially when Jongdae wrapped an arm around his waist from behind as he stood by the water basin, kissing the side of Minseok’s neck. The stable hand had remained close all day, letting his hands linger for longer, and Minseok had allowed it, indulging both Jongdae and himself. But the touch only burned now, a shudder racing down his spine as he forced himself to remain still.

“You about ready for dinner?” Jongdae asked, pulling away and heading towards the door. “You know how Chanyeol is if we’re late. If we don’t go now, I’m sure he will eat our share.”

Minseok didn’t move from his spot, fighting with what to do, what to say. And when he didn’t respond, Jongdae paused at the door, looking back.

“Seok?”

The magic pulsed behind his ribs, a little stronger, and he let out a breath, more of a sigh than he meant it, before forcing himself to smile at the younger man. Jongdae stood just inside the doorway, a confused look on his face as Minseok met his gaze.

“You go on ahead,” Minseok replied. “I’ll catch up.”

“I can wait with you,” Jongdae started lightly, obviously not getting what Minseok meant with his words. “The others can guard our plates until we -”

“Jongdae,” Minseok whispered, shaking his head as the smile faltered. “Go to dinner.”

The realization crept in slowly, starting at Jongdae’s eyes, and Minseok watched as the knowledge bled into his other features, until Jongdae was looking at him with horror and shock, mouth slack and skin paled. And then he was shaking his head, stepping forward.

“No.”

“Dae,” Minseok said with a wince, reaching out when the younger man neared, grabbing a hold of his shoulders. “You must.”

“You honestly think I can do such a thing?” Jongdae argued, and Minseok could see the tears welling in his eyes as he reached up to wrap his fingers around each of Minseok’s wrists. “That I can go to dinner and pretend like everything is alright?”

“All I know is that I have to do this alone,” Minseok insisted, giving Jongdae’s shoulders a squeeze. “And that you must not be there.”

“ _Minseok,_ ” Jongdae hissed, and the older man let his hands slide up to cup the other’s face, hushing him softly as tears began to fall.

“Please,” Minseok whispered. “For me. Go be with the others.”

Jongdae blinked back his tears, looking up at Minseok with a lost expression, face scrunched in anguish. But even as he whimpered, he nodded.

Minseok leaned forward, pushing into the other’s space as he claimed his lips in a soft kiss. He could feel his heart shatter when Jongdae muffled a cry into his mouth, reaching out to pull Minseok closer, to take in what he could one last time.

“Jongdae,” he breathed into the kiss, eyes closing for a brief moment, “Jongdae, I _love you._ ”

When he pulled away, he forced himself to step back out of Jongdae’s hold, the stable hand biting his lower lip harshly as his hands fell back to his sides.

“Go on, now,” Minseok encouraged softly, giving the other a sad smile. “Before Chanyeol eats all of the food.”

The laugh that Jongdae let out was choked, unnatural, and the watery smile that accompanied it only made the ache in Minseok’s chest that much worse. He watched as Jongdae hesitated, delaying, before turning away and forcing himself towards the door.

He hovered in the threshold, again, but this time didn’t look back, gripping the door frame tightly as he spoke.

“I love you, Minseok. Don’t you dare forget that. Ever.”

Before Minseok could respond, he was gone, and the older man stared at the spot the stable hand had occupied, his breath catching in his throat. The throb of the curse sharpened, briefly, and Minseok reached up to grip at his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic before the pain passed.

The tug was getting stronger. He had to go.

He waited just long enough to make sure Jongdae had time to disappear into the castle before he followed the magic’s call. He didn’t know where it was leading him, but he allowed his feet to move in an unfamiliar direction, and it gave his mind a chance to wander.

He was scared. He didn’t know what awaited him, how his death would unfold. Would he be in pain? Would it be quick? Who would find him? _Would_ they find him? Would the others be alright? Junmyeon? _Jongdae_? The questions kept coming, one after another, and each step felt heavier than the last as he walked out of the life he had known and into uncertainty.

But he had to do this while it was still his choice. The longer he waited, the stronger the tug became, and he realized that if he didn’t act on his own, the magic would eventually override his control. It would force him to his death, if it had to, and Minseok didn’t want that. He wanted to know it was his decision. Even if he had to die, at least he had that last lingering bit of authority, however small it was. He may be cursed, but he would die on his own terms, fully aware.

Eventually, the pull led him to a door he had never seen. As he pushed his way inside - the castle doors were notorious for being locked, but this one was not - he was bombarded by the sight of elegant fabrics and bright colors. The royal tailor’s room. He had seen the man a few times before, only in passing, and usually while he was deep in conversation with Chanyeol, but he had never met the man properly, and he had never been to this part of the castle.

But as his eyes fell to the spinning wheel in the corner, his mind echoed the lines of his curse, of _a needle’s prick_ , and he understood. And the tightness in his chest only grew.

He didn’t approach at first, eyeing the spindle warily as he stayed rooted in his spot by the door. This would be it. This would be his last moments, tucked away in an unfamiliar room in the castle. And in that moment, he was lost.

The hesitation didn’t last as the magic swelled in his chest, and he gasped as he stumbled forward, urged on.

He couldn’t stop his tears as they made their presence known, hot trails left on his cheeks as he moved towards the spinning wheel. The needle looked harmless, though Minseok knew what it held. It would be simple, really, to reach out and prick his finger, yet his hands trembled by his side, his heart still fighting what his mind knew he had to do.

He steeled his emotions, scrubbing his face with his hands to wipe away the tears as he came to stop a yard away. He’d count to three, and then he would do it. Get it over with quickly. Be done with it once and for all. In a way, the thought of all of this ending was enough to give him strength. This could be his way out. No more curses, no more crows, no more hurting the people he loved.

With a deep breath, he steadied himself and closed his eyes.

_One_.

Kou flashed in his mind, with his loud, boisterous laugh and gentle smiles. Teaching him, raising him. Always looking out for his best interest.

Junmyeon’s teasing words and stubborn personality, the passion he held for life. His will to fight and the loyalty he held for a shadow in the woods.

And Jongdae. A light in the dark. The man he loved, and had to let go.

Minseok drew one final breath, holding all of those memories close in his heart, before raising his hand towards the needle.

The tug in his chest was replaced by one on the back of his shirt, something gripping the fabric and pulling him back with little warning. Minseok gasped at the sudden change in momentum, losing his balance as he toppled backwards and tumbled to the floor.

He looked up, disoriented, to realize his view of the spindle was blocked by something. _Someone._

Minseok stared up in shock at Junmyeon, because he wasn’t supposed to _be here_. He was supposed to be at dinner with the others, leaving Minseok to meet his fate alone. He hadn’t told anyone - hadn’t known himself - where he would be, but here the prince was, standing in front of the spindle with as determined a look as ever.

He spared Minseok a glance over his shoulder, and the look hit Minseok in the chest like a dagger. The sheer pain in his eyes was nearly tangible, but the acceptance, the _resignation_ in his gaze, _that_ was what hurt. And Minseok _knew_.

Junmyeon reached forward, and Minseok only had time to push a strangled cry out of his chest, a half-formed protest as he watched Junmyeon bring his hand down on the spindle in horror.

“No! _Junmyeon, no!_ ”

The effect was immediate. Minseok could only stare as Junmyeon’s body collapsed, his legs crumbling underneath him as he sunk to the floor. He laid, unmoving, and Minseok gasped as he scrambled forward, skidding to a halt next to the other.

No. _No._ Not Junmyeon.

His brother’s face was calm, eyes closed. Almost as if he were asleep. His head rested against the floor at an awkward angle, slumped onto his side, but Minseok didn’t dare touch him. Couldn’t touch him as his own body curled in on itself, a desperate sob spilling from his lips. His hands flew to his head, clutching his hair as he rocked on his knees, because _Junmyeon._ The younger man had taken the curse from him.

How was that possible? This was _Minseok’s_ curse to bear, not Junmyeon’s. And yet here he lay, and the tug that had been squeezing his chest was gone. It was all _gone_. And now Junmyeon…

The sound of fluttering wings cut through his cries, and Minseok flinched instinctively, his body jolting away from the noise as he looked up through his tears.

A man, thin and drawn, was staring down at him, black cloak draped over his form. He seemed almost like a ghost, as if Minseok could take his hand and touch the other and it would be like passing his hand through smoke. Yet the air around him vibrated with some force, something cold and dark. Minseok took one look at him, at the sadistic smile on his face, and knew exactly who he was.

“Crow,” he whispered, and the other’s smile grew sharper.

But then the man was glancing between the two brothers, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“One of you is supposed to be dead.”

The words, said with such indifference, had Minseok’s emotions spiraling rapidly into fury. _This_ was Crow. Some frail looking man, much older than him, who had done this. Who had cursed him. Who had killed Kou. Who had _just killed Junmyeon_. And before he could think better of it, he was pushing himself up off of the floor, rushing towards the other.

Before he could reach him, however, Crow raised a hand, and it felt as if Minseok had run headfirst into a wall, his breath knocked out of him as his body came to a jarring stop. A flick of the man’s wrist, and Minseok was sent across the room, landing with a thud against the hardwood floor and sliding until he hit the wall. He hissed at the contact, coughing as he tried to get back to his feet, but before he could move, Crow was there, hoisting him up and pushing him against the wall, pinning him by the throat.

The man smirked at him, shaking his head. “Now, that was not your best decision, hmm?”

Minseok fought the hold as Crow’s fingers curled under his jaw, snapping his face up to look at him, before taking a hold of his chin and yanking it to the side, until he could see Junmyeon still laying in the floor.

“Would you look at that…” the man hummed, holding his head and forcing him to look at Junmyeon. “Is that your baby brother? My oh my, what a _courageous_ boy he is, to take the curse upon himself like that. And here I thought a bloodline curse was unbreakable. A shame, really.” The man tilted his head, as if deep in thought. “Still, there is use for such… _unexpected_ surprises.”

The words sent tremors through Minseok’s frame, the idea of this man going anywhere near Junmyeon sending him into a panic.

“No, please,” Minseok whimpered. “Let him go. It isn’t him you want, it never was. Release him from the curse and take _me_ instead.”

“Come now, Minseok,” the man cooed, before slamming Minseok further into the wall, his head connecting painfully with the stone behind him, pulling a soft hiss from the younger. “There is no need to be selfish. I have had my fun with you for twenty-four years, and now it is your brother’s turn.”

Minseok groaned at the pain in the back of his skull, fighting to pull in air around Crow’s grip on his neck, and his chest burned with the swell of emotions, voice cracking on the words as they grew louder, “No, please, _no_. I beg you!”

“Hush now, child,” Crow shushed. “It is only fair.”

“Not Junmyeon,” Minseok tried again, shaking his head. “This isn’t his fault!”

“No, it is not,” the sorcerer agreed with a smirk. “It is _yours_. Everyone around you is hurt because of _you_.”

Minseok opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t, because he was right. It _was_ his fault. And Crow continued, knowing he had struck a nerve.

“You see? We are not so different, you and I.” Crow leaned closer, flashing Minseok a wicked grin. “A shadow can only be born from another shadow. The dark is in our nature, and we can only hurt those around us. Just like our lovely Junmyeon, who had the misfortune of sharing your blood. Of being your _brother_.”

“Stop it,” Minseok whispered.

“It is almost as sad as your guardian, Kou,” Crow went on, “who tried so desperately to protect you. He screamed for you the day he died, did you know that? He screamed and screamed, and no one came.”

Minseok shut his eyes tightly, clawing at the man’s wrist to get free. But he couldn’t get away. Not from Crow’s grip, and not from the words that kept spilling from the man’s mouth.

“And now we have your brother sacrificing himself, and for what? For _you_? What have you done for him besides caused him pain?”

Crow leaned closer, his voice dropping in volume. “And what of poor Jongdae? What do you suppose his screams of terror would sound like? Would you like to find out?”

What little breath Minseok could get caught in his throat, a strangled gasp leaving his lips.

“Please,” he begged, tears in his eyes. “ _Please._ Not them. I’ll do anything.”

The man scoffed at that, shaking his head. “You have done quite enough, surviving my first gift.” He smiled, a soft sound of realization leaving his lips. “Perhaps another gift would do?”

The hand at his throat moved away and Minseok fell to the floor, crying out at the sudden descent and coughing violently as the air re-entered his lungs. But Crow paid no mind to his struggles, crouching next to Minseok slowly.

“Yes. I am feeling quite generous today. Let us play a game, shall we?” When Minseok managed to get to his knees, a sharp blow landed on his side, sending him to the floor again as Crow continued to speak. “We will play your _favorite_ game, hide and seek. Now, I know I may have a bit of a head start…”

The man pressed his lips to Minseok’s ear, whispering as his fingers pushed into the younger man’s back. “But I will be _kind enough_ to leave you with a map.”

The hum of magic filled the air, and Minseok began to scream.

* * *

**Nat’s Notes:** … Oops?

**Meg’s Notes:** … Sorry?

 

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 9!


	10. With Parents' Blood Within His Vein

Junmyeon was late for dinner, and Yixing was having a hard time not being bothered by that.  

It wasn’t anything the advisor wasn’t used to. Junmyeon was perpetually late, usually with his attention given to mischievous acts instead of actual scheduled appointments. When Yixing wasn’t around to keep him on schedule, he was prone to be forgetful, so his absence wasn’t a sudden change. This was Junmyeon being himself.

Yet Yixing was a little more aware of it than he should have been, after that discussion in the library, and the dejected look Junmyeon had worn as he left. The dejected look that Yixing knew he had caused. He knew the other had been wounded by Yixing’s refusal to call him by name, but that didn’t make Yixing’s stance any less important. Still, it made him anxious that Junmyeon had not shown his face since that exchange.

But he wasn’t worried. Not at all. Junmyeon would show up. And until then, he had enough distractions in the dining hall to keep his mind preoccupied. Namely, watching the different interactions around him as he waited.

For instance, he was currently watching Yifan try to defend his ever-shrinking dignity in front of a relentless Chanyeol and Zitao, which was highly amusing.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Chanyeol’s deep baritone rang out, as he scooped yet another forkful of food into his mouth. “FanFan is a perfectly lovable name.”

“It is _not_ my name,” Yifan argue, scowling at his plate. “No one has called me that in years, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“But nicknames are supposed to be used,” Chanyeol countered. “That is why Junmyeon gave you such a precious name.”

“It is a _childhood_ nickname,” Yifan corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. “And despite what nonsense Yixing has been telling you, I am not a _child_. I will not answer to such names.”

“Aw, but FanFan,” Zitao chimed in with a whine, jutting out his lip in such a comical show of disapproval that Yixing outright snorted. Zitao, for as fierce as he was in battle, behaved much like a five-year old off the field.

“Stop it,” Yifan snapped, reaching out to swat at Zitao’s arm, who nearly toppled over in peals of laughter. Oh yes, Yixing thought. The young guard was enjoying this.

“It does roll off the tongue rather well,” Chanyeol continued, smirking around his food. “Lord FanFan. It’s nice, right?”

Yifan spared a glare at Yixing, eyes narrowed into sharp points. “You just _have_ to make my life miserable, yes? You could not just let things lie.”

Yixing raised his hands in defense, shrugging with a smirk. “I am merely repaying the favor.”

It was the least he could do after Yifan had so _graciously_ told Kyungsoo of his and Junmyeon’s nicknames and singing habits. While he had expected it was Yifan all along, seeing as the man was the only one who truly knew of such things, when the young lord had had the audacity to _gloat_ about the exchange of information, Yixing could not let it go. And the childhood nickname had been far too delectable a detail to ignore. He would gladly have Yifan angry at him if it meant he could sit back and let others do the teasing.

Zitao certainly enjoyed it, though he could see the younger man reach out from time to time to touch Yifan’s shoulder or arm, pacifying the young lord somewhat.

Yixing was surprised that more people had not joined in on the teasing, but Kyungsoo had turned his attention to an exhausted Jongin, the gardener tired from the day's work. Even Chanyeol was only half paying attention, eyes searching for a certain tailor. What shocked him the most, however, was Jongdae’s withdrawal from the group.

The stable hand had come in a little while ago, walking straight to the farest table and downing half of a bottle of wine in one go, the dark red liquid escaping his lips on one side and leaving a stain on the man’s white shirt from where it dripped down from his chin. A headache, he had used as an excuse when the others tried to coax him over to their table, and when he continued to refuse them, they stopped asking. But Yixing had kept an eye on him, watching the man’s shoulders growing increasingly slumped, watching one bottle of wine turn to two.

It wasn’t like Jongdae to do this. He wasn’t much of a drinker, and even when he was, it wasn’t more than he could handle. The shake of his hands as he took another swig from the bottle was enough for Yixing to think there was more going on than a mere headache.

Chanyeol’s ecstatic greeting to Baekhyun pulled him from his thoughts momentarily, watching as the taller guard scooted over to give Baekhyun room to sit with them. The smaller man took the seat with a bright smile, immediately diving into discussing his latest project as Chanyeol listened with rapt attention. With the appearance of the tailor, almost everyone was there, save Sehun - who was undoubtedly visiting Luhan - and Xiumin. And, of course, Junmyeon.

When Jongdae finished the second bottle and began to eye a third, Yixing excused himself from the table and walked over. Jongdae may not be his charge, but he wasn’t going to sit by and let the man poison himself with alcohol.

“Jongdae?” Yixing called out as he approached, and the stable hand ducked his head further down, hiding his face. He had barely looked up all evening, Yixing noted as he settled on the bench next to him. “Do you not think you have had enough for tonight?”

“‘S not working,” Jongdae muttered.

“What is not working?” the advisor asked, and he watched the rueful way Jongdae’s lips curled up, forming a warped grin. “The wine?”

“My smile,” he said softly, turning the bottle up again. “‘S not working like it should. I still hurt.”

The advisor reached out to wrap a hand around the neck of the bottle, determining Jongdae probably shouldn’t consume any more wine tonight. Jongdae didn’t fight the bottle being tugged from his hands, but he didn’t look up, either.

“Alright. What is going on?”

“Jus’ a headache,” he slurred, and Yixing watched him swipe a hand through his hair, over the back of his neck, before letting that hand land on the table once more with a clumsy thump.

“Do you have any other pain?” Yixing asked, touching the man’s shoulder. He nearly drew his hand away, feeling the tremors in the other’s frame, and his frown deepened. Something was definitely wrong.

He looked around again, his thoughts going to Xiumin. The man had always stuck close to Jongdae, but he wasn’t here for dinner. “I have not seen Xiumin tonight. Is he sick again? Perhaps you have caught the same illness?”

At the mention of Xiumin, Jongdae reached for the bottle again, looking up with such a lost expression that Yixing gasped. The man was crying, tears leaving hot trails down his face and the skin around his eyes an angry, swollen pink. Yixing kept the bottle from him, reaching out to steady him when he teetered on the bench.

“Jongdae, stop this,” Yixing ordered gently, grabbing the man’s shoulders once the bottle was set to the side, out of the stable hand’s reach. “What has gotten into you? Why are you crying?”

“Gone,” Jongdae whispered, his eyes unfocused as he looked at Yixing. “He’s gone. And I… I did nothin’.”

“Who is gone?” Yixing asked, brows drawn together in confusion. “Xiumin?”

Jongdae shook his head sharply, biting his lip. “Not Xiumin. Minseok.”

Yixing didn’t understand. He had never heard of a Minseok, at least not living. There were a few in the royal line that had bore the name, but not one he had ever met in person. Yet Jongdae continued to whisper the name and mumble about the man being gone, his words and actions badly slurred.

Before he could question it further, the voices of Yifan and Kyungsoo behind him regained his attention, particularly when his name was suddenly being thrown into their conversation.

“As revengeful as he is, at least Yixing does not assign us such ridiculous assignments,” Yifan huffed. “This latest one is difficult, even for you, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo snorted at the words. “It would not be if you actually listened to my lessons.”

“But what you have given us is impossible,” Yifan argued, and Yixing turned just in time to watch Kyungsoo roll his eyes, his hand resting on Jongin’s lower back even as he looked over at Yifan.

“It is not. Junmyeon turned his in just today, and he had no trouble at all.”

Yixing straightened, chuckling a little at Yifan’s skeptical look and unable to keep from chiming in. “I beg to differ,” he called out, gaining Kyungsoo’s attention. “He came to me for help on the assignment. The curse you gave them to solve was very challenging.”

“Curse?” Kyungsoo questioned, shaking his head. “I did not assign a curse. Their lesson was on the economic failings of the Kang Kingdom.”

Yixing paused, taken aback by the words. Something cold settled in his gut, because that was not what he had been told. Junmyeon had given him nothing on the Kang Kingdom, only asking about the bloodline curse he had on that piece of parchment. Why would Junmyeon, of all people, lie to him about something as mundane as a history lesson?

“That is not what he showed me,” he said softly, and Jongdae’s soft whine at his side drew his attention once more.

“Minseok’s curse,” Jongdae muttered, holding his head as a silent sob racked his body. “‘Twas Minseok’s curse.”

He looked up at Yixing with tears in his eyes, shaking his head as he reached out to grab his hand, as if trying to convey just how much he meant what he said. “We shoulda told you. Only Jun and I… We shoulda told you ‘bout Seok.”

Yixing leaned forward, forcing Jongdae to look at him. “Who is Minseok?”

Jongdae choked out another sob, letting his head drop. “Xiumin. _He_ ’s Minseok. Junmyeon’s brother.”

It all clicked slowly into Yixing’s mind, the words echoing around in his skull. He had known of the death of another child before Junmyeon, but here Jongdae was, claiming he was not dead, but was _Xiumin._ And that he was cursed. The curse Junmyeon had been so adamant to break.

But he couldn’t break it, Yixing reminded himself. A man cannot change his blood.

The answer hit Yixing in the gut like a fist, knocking the air clear out of his lungs as he realized exactly what Junmyeon had concluded earlier. No, if this were indeed Minseok, and this was his curse, he couldn’t get out of it because it was targeting him by his blood. But Junmyeon shared that blood.

And Junmyeon was still not at dinner.

He jolted from his spot, nearly knocking Jongdae over in the process as he rushed to the door. The others called out to him, asking what was wrong, but he couldn’t breathe, let alone answer them. Because he knew what Junmyeon would do.

He skidded to a halt in the hall, glancing in both directions as he took in harsh breaths. Where would he be? The stables? The bed chambers? He forced his mind to slow down, to recall the lines of the curse. There was something there, he knew. There had to be.

There had been something about a needle.

With quick steps, he turned in the direction of Baekhyun’s room. It was the only place he could think of that would have such a thing, and he knew if Junmyeon could figure out the loophole, he could figure out the needle. He just hoped the man had been delayed enough in his conclusions that he could still stop him.

Yixing reached the room in record time, pushing through the door with the prince’s name already on his lips, ready to be called out.

But his eyes didn’t find Junmyeon in the room. There was no sign of the prince at all. Instead he found Xiumin, _Minseok_ , lying on the floor by the wall.

And his back was covered in burns.

The man was whimpering and gasping, writhing in pain even as he tried to avoid aggravating his wounds further, and Yixing approached him quickly. He didn’t touch him, afraid to cause any more pain to the man, but kneeled by his side, shushing him quietly.

“Minseok,” he spoke, low but firm. “Minseok, where is Junmyeon?”

The man jolted, as if just realizing Yixing were there, and looked up with glazed eyes as his cry turned sharper at the movement. But the agony in his features ran far deeper than physical wounds, and Yixing’s heart stopped as Minseok looked to the side, his hand reaching for something before fisting, his head shaking. Yixing followed the gaze, his breath catching at the sight of the spinning wheel - _the spindle_.

“The curse,” Minseok croaked, and Yixing’s mind filled with the words he had just read earlier that day. Words of revenge. Words of death. And it was meant for this man who lay before him.

Minseok was still _alive_ , despite the curse’s dark promise. And Junmyeon was not in the room, nowhere to be seen. Did that mean..?

Yixing felt faint, planting a hand against the floor to hold himself up as his heartbeat quickened, but hastily shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. No. Junmyeon could not be gone. He _couldn’t_. He had to still be alive.

A whimper from Minseok reminded Yixing of the other’s presence, and he turned his attention back to the injured man. Would Minseok know? He had been there, right?

“Is he alive?” Yixing whispered, his voice breaking. “Minseok, is Junmyeon _alive_?”

“I don’t know,” Minseok sobbed, biting his lip against another surge of pain. “The curse… Junmyeon, he -”

Yixing clutched at the front of his shirt, feeling his chest ache at the words. But before he could give into his own agony, Minseok was speaking once more.

“He took him,” Minseok whined, shaking his head again as he cried, from pain or sorrow or maybe a mixture of both, Yixing wasn’t sure. “He took Junmyeon.”

“Who took him?” Yixing demanded, and when the other didn’t respond, his head drooping and on the verge of unconsciousness, the advisor asked again, reaching out to cover Minseok’s hand with his own, trying to anchor him. “Minseok, _please_. Who took him?”

Minseok gasped again, groaning as he pressed his cheek to the floor, but he opened his eyes to look at Yixing, a few large tears escaping as he did.

“Crow,” he whispered.

Yixing knew that name. Had read it in multiple accounts of the Nightshade Rebellion, accounts of a very powerful man - a _sorcerer_ \- who had originally been Heizhu, a Royal Advisor to Minki, and had fled the kingdom during the uprising. The sound of his name aloud, and tied in with Junmyeon, had a shiver running down his spine.

“Where?” Yixing asked, and Minseok let out a pained breath.

“My back,” he whimpered, and Yixing squeezed his hand with a sigh. He didn’t know where this Crow was, but he wasn’t here, and he had left Minseok behind. How long had Minseok laid on the floor? He couldn’t imagine how much pain the other was in, but it was far too much to question him now, it seemed.

“We are going to get you help,” Yixing assured, and Minseok shook his head with a groan.

“No, Yixing, my back,” Minseok said again, breathless as he closed his eyes, but Yixing didn’t have time to respond.

The sound of footsteps approaching had Yixing looking up, and he watched as Jongdae appeared in the doorway. Though still drunk, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and his body slightly wobbling, his eyes were clearer, sharper than they had been in the dining hall. The stress of the situation had served to sober him up, at least a little bit. But his emotions remained as messy as they had been in the dining hall.

He took one look at Minseok and burst, the cry that left him both relieved and horrified. But he paled at the sight of the man’s back, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh, God, Minseok,” he said breathlessly, staggering forward and sinking to his knees on the other side of the man.

Minseok had jerked again at the sound of the other’s voice, and he gritted his teeth around another groan, eyes squeezing shut as he waited for the pain to pass, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he took.

Jongdae’s hand hovered over the man’s back, the skin exposed and burned with the tattered remains of his shirt laying loosely around him. Like Yixing, he didn’t touch the wounds, but instead dropped his hand to Minseok’s hair, brushing it from his face quietly.

“What has he done to you?” he whispered, and Yixing took a closer look at the man’s injuries.

The burns in Minseok’s back were an angry red, the skin around it blistered from heat and swollen, pulled tight across his shoulder blades and ribs. The lines were deep - deep enough to scar, Yixing realized - but relatively clean. A sign that the lines were done by magic and not by any natural source of heat. But as Yixing continued to look, he began to see what looked like _patterns_. Familiar patterns that he had seen time and time again, though on Minseok’s skin they were slightly distorted. Yixing knew, however, that the lines would heal, and the scars left behind would be much more distinguishable.

The words Minseok had said earlier about his back suddenly came to mind in a sickening realization. He hadn’t been commenting on the pain. He had been trying to address the lines themselves. Or what they created on his skin.

Jongdae must have noticed as well, a sharp gasp leaving his throat. “Is that..?”

Yixing swallowed thickly, nodding. “A map, it seems.” He glanced at Jongdae in horror, watching as the man paled even further. “A map leading to Junmyeon.”

Yixing had never, _ever_ , felt more powerless than he did in that very moment. He fought his emotions, fighting the temptation to let go of all rationality and go after Junmyeon or break down and cry.

But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He had to get Minseok to his father, and then he had to alert Junmyeon’s parents…

Oh, God, Junmyeon’s parents.

Tears pooled in Jongdae’s eyes as he looked back down at Minseok, his hand continuing to run through the man’s sweat-slicked hair. “He’s in so much pain,” Jongdae whispered, his hands shaking with another swipe over Minseok’s forehead.

Yixing grimaced, because he knew Minseok was in serious danger with such severe wounds. He reached forward, tucking his fingers underneath the man’s shoulder. They could try to move him. Take him to his father. It would be a straight shot, more or less, the castle’s design allowing the medic’s room to be in a central location that all hallways lead to one way or another. But even the smallest of movements proved agonizing to Minseok, who yelped at Yixing’s actions and the pull it caused on his injuries. His breathing was rapid, shallow, and the man struggled to keep his eyes open and focused. The pain was becoming too much.

Jongdae had leaned forward at the cry, shushing the man as he pressed a kiss to the cheek, whispering words of comfort into his ear. The effect was calming on Minseok, and as Yixing watched the exchange between the two - now confirmed in his mind as something much more than friends - he made a decision.

“Jongdae,” he spoke in a low voice, and when the stable hand looked up, he squared his jaw. “We must get him to my father.”

Jongdae seemed torn at the idea, looking at the burns with a skeptical eye. “His wounds…”

“Are in need of serious medical attention,” Yixing cut in gently, shaking his head. “He is going to be in a great deal of pain, yes, but the faster we can get him there, the faster he can begin treatment. There is little my father can do for him here.”

Jongdae bit his lip hard, still not convinced.

“You will be able to keep him calm,” Yixing assured. “I know you will. He responds well to you. And we are going to need to keep him as calm as possible, lest the stress worsen his state. But we _must act_.”

“Alright,” Jongdae whispered, giving a stiff nod. “Alright, let’s do this quickly.”

They moved carefully, pulling Minseok up between them as gently as they could with his arms around their shoulders, but Minseok began to wail before they even got his feet underneath him. Jongdae looked distraught as he tried to soothe the man, murmuring words of assurance to him as he fought back his own tears. It quieted the older man slightly, but then they were walking.

And Minseok couldn’t help his cries. Each step was excruciating, the man’s legs giving with each movement forward as the two men assisted him through the door, down the hall in the direction of Guozhi’s room. Jongdae did his best to keep the man grounded, but there was only so much to be done, and Yixing’s heart ached at the sobs that worked out of Minseok’s throat.

“Hurts,” Minseok whimpered, his groan breaking off into a sob as he nearly lost his footing again. Yixing could feel the man’s hand fisting the fabric of his shirt, tugging the cloth tight around his shoulder as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“I know,” Jongdae whispered back, keeping his eyes forward though Yixing knew he was breaking. “I know. But just a little longer, Seok. Just hold on a little longer.”

They only made it halfway before Minseok’s body could no longer stand the pain. With a final grunt, Minseok’s body went limp, and the gasp that Jongdae let out reverberated through Minseok and into Yixing’s chest with its intensity.

“ _Minseok_ ,” the stable hand hissed, and Yixing took the moment to stop, an arm coming to rest around the man’s lower back, dangerously close to the burns as he reached up to press his fingers into the man’s neck, underneath his jaw. There. The man’s pulse was still there.

“He is fine,” he said quickly, struggling to hold the man up as Jongdae began to panic at his other side. “Jongdae, he is _alright_. The pain has just rendered him unconscious. He will regain it soon.”

Jongdae cursed under his breath, dropping his head as he forced himself to breathe. “What do we do, Yixing? We can’t carry him like this.”

And Yixing knew he was right, because even as they stood there, the deadweight of Minseok’s unconscious form was nearly dragging them both down. He couldn’t get a good grip on the other’s waist for fear of agitating the man’s injuries, and he knew Jongdae was nearly hysterical with his own worry, only worsened by the alcohol that still buzzed in his veins.

With a stiff grunt, he pushed himself in front of Minseok, pulling his arm over his chest and leaning forward, heaving the man up onto his back. The weight was more than he expected, and he faltered in his step before finding his balance. Jongdae began to protest, trying to take some of the burden, but Yixing pushed him away gently.

“Yixing,” Jongdae started, but Yixing shook his head with finality.

“I will carry him.”

“I’m stronger,” Jongdae countered immediately, and Yixing was not above admitting that.

“Yes,” he agreed, his breathing shorter with Minseok pressing down on his shoulders, “but with your current state of intoxication, it is best I carry him. We do not want to make his injuries worse.”

Yixing shifted, hoisting Minseok a little higher. “Go on ahead. I will catch up.”

Jongdae paused at that, mouth working around words that wouldn’t come out as he glanced at Minseok’s still form on Yixing’s back. He seemed absolutely torn between staying by Minseok’s side and trying to find help, but Yixing made the decision for him.

“Jongdae, go.”

The stable hand jumped to action at the order, disappearing off down the hall at a speed Yixing wished he could achieve at the moment. But with Minseok on his back, his steps were slower, heavier.

As Yixing reached his father’s hall, the sound of rushed footsteps reached his ears, and he looked up to see Jongdae hurrying back towards him, Chanyeol and Zitao in tow.

Out of all the people they could have found to help, Yixing was thankful it was them. The hallways had been unusually quiet, the staff still recovering from the festivities a few nights prior and therefore not lingering in the halls for longer than necessary. The only ones who seemed to frequent the the halls were the guards, and after having seen them in the dining room earlier, he would not have been surprised if they had gone to their duty earlier tonight, after Yixing’s dramatic exit.

But regardless of how they got there, they were there now, and Yixing sent the trio a strained smile as they neared.

Chanyeol reached him first, stepping forward to ease Minseok from Yixing’s shoulders and onto his own. The guard lifted him with hardly any trouble, already moving towards the door as Yixing quickened his steps to keep up, stumbling a little at the sudden lack of Minseok’s weight.

“God, what is on his _back_?” Zitao asked in a gasp, and Yixing chose not to answer the younger man, teeth clenched as a lump formed in his throat. Yixing could feel the weight of Chanyeol's gaze as he shot him a look, but he kept his eyes forward, ushering them inside quietly.

His father was categorizing medicinal herbs when they arrived at his door, his warm smile falling at the sight of Minseok slung over Chanyeol’s shoulders. His eyes found his son’s quickly, took in the look of utter distress on his features, and he jumped into action.

“Get him to the cot, in the corner,” Guozhi instructed, and Chanyeol did as he was told, crossing the room easily to the cot the older man had indicated. He lowered Minseok to lie on his stomach, his injured back on full display as the remainder of his shirt was removed. From years of treating everything from minor illness to ghastly injuries, Guozhi didn’t flinch at all at the sight of the burns, quickly going to his shelves to pull out a number of ointments and bandages. He deposited them by the bed before grabbing the nearest basin of water and a towel to clean the wounds.

“What happened?” he questioned as he settled himself at Minseok's side, observing the man's back. “These burns are peculiar.”

Jongdae took a seat at the head of the cot and refused to move as Chanyeol and Zitao stepped aside, afraid to get in the way but hesitant to put too much distance between them and Minseok. Chanyeol was taking this all quietly, hardly grimacing as Guozhi began his task. Zitao, on the other hand, looked ashen and tearful, and had to turn his eyes to the far wall to keep his wits about him.

Yixing was the one who answered when no one spoke up, the words delivered without infliction as he leaned against the wall by the bed.

“He was attacked by a sorcerer.”

“There are no sorcerers in the kingdom,” his father responded with a frown, wringing the towel out in the basin and carefully cleaning the burns and surrounding skin. “Not since the Nightshade Rebellion.”

“I have heard of this one,” Yixing offered, eyes following his father’s hands, watching the man swipe large amounts of a pale ointment over the burned skin once the area was cleaned. “Minseok called him Crow.”

His father hesitated, hands hovering over Minseok’s back.

“Crow,” his father repeated, the word quiet and full of disbelief.

“Minseok?” Chanyeol interjected, his voice painted in confusion. “Don’t you mean Xiumin?”

“No,” Yixing refuted. “I meant Minseok. This man’s name is not Xiumin as we were told, but Kim Minseok.”

He was sure that answer only served to confuse Chanyeol more, but Yixing did not spare the guard a glance. He was too busy observing his father’s reaction, watching how the older man looked up with wide eyes before glancing back down to the unconscious man.

“The prince,” his father whispered, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “He survived the curse, after all.”

Yixing closed his eyes, a sharp breath entering his lungs, because of course his father knew. And he wanted to feel angry at that, being left in the dark on such an important matter, but he didn’t have time to feel anything as his heart dropped into his stomach with his father’s words, worry clawing at the back of his throat.

“Yes,” Yixing said, meeting his father’s gaze. “He survived.”

“What are you talking about?” Chanyeol demanded, tired of being ignored and frustrated with the situation, and Yixing let his eyes sweep over to the tall guard. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“This is Junmyeon’s brother,” Jongdae said softly, gaining the attention of the others. “He has been in hiding, bearing a curse that should have killed him today, on his twenty-fourth birthday.”

“But it didn’t,” Zitao stated carefully, glancing at Yixing.

“No,” Yixing agreed, taking a deep breath. “Because Junmyeon took the curse on himself.”

The captain tensed at the words, eyes snapping to Yixing’s form. “If Junmyeon took the curse, then… He can’t be…”

Chanyeol swore under his breath, turning to scrub at his face as he lost his words. Zitao looked away, jaw working around emotions he refused to voice, and the rest of the room was cast into silence by their fear.

“ _Yixing_?” Chanyeol called urgently, looking back up at the advisor, looking for answers that Yixing just _did not have_ , and Yixing sent him a pained look in return, hands running down the length of his pants nervously. No, he didn’t know if Junmyeon were alive. But he feared the worst.

Guozhi broke the quiet, clearing his throat as he turned back to Minseok’s burns.

“The burns are a map, correct?”

Yixing nodded weakly, having figured his father would notice the structured lines. “Yes. It apparently leads to Junmyeon.”

“Then he is alive?” Chanyeol asked, hope in his voice, albeit small, but still Yixing did not answer.

“We will need to call a council,” Guozhi continued, slipping into a professional tone as he continued to work. This was where Yixing got his composure, it seemed, the only sign that Guozhi was affected being the slight shake in his hands. He was hiding his thoughts well, even if his body betrayed his emotions. “We will have to make a copy of this map to show them.”

The sound of a soft moan had everyone in the room freezing, all eyes turning to Minseok. The man’s face had scrunched up in pain, and Jongdae reached out quickly, soothing the skin of his neck.

“He is waking,” Jongdae said in a hushed tone, and Yixing winced, because even if it were a good sign that Minseok was coming to once again, the pain he would be in during his treatment would be severe, now that touch was a necessity. The doctor was only halfway through.

His father followed his thoughts, it seemed. “Chanyeol, Zitao,” Guozhi called, beckoning the guards closer, “I will need you to hold him still while I finish my work.”

He looked towards the stable hand with a firm nod. “Jongdae, can you keep him calm?”

“I can try,” Jongdae answered as the guards positioned themselves on either side of the cot, grimly grabbing a hold of Minseok’s arms.

Minseok was rapidly regaining consciousness, shifting on the cot and whimpering at the movement. Yixing remembered the sting that accompanied most of his father’s ointments, grimacing as he watched his father reach out to rub another layer of the cream across the other’s back.

The man nearly bucked off the cot, arching away from the touch with a choked cry, and Chanyeol and Zitao leaned forward, putting more weight into holding the other down. Jongdae was quick to hush the pained man, speaking soft words that Yixing could not make out over the sound of Minseok’s ragged breathing.

“Father,” Yixing called, standing helplessly by the wall. “What do you need me to do?”

He couldn’t stand here and do nothing, watching Minseok writhe as the others buzzed around him. He needed a task, a distraction. _Anything_.

“Go alert the others,” Guozhi ordered, another helping of ointment leaving Minseok shuddering. “The council should be called quickly.”

“But Minseok…” Yixing spoke, and his father sent him a glance over his shoulder. His eyes were full of concern as he found Yixing’s form, but the advisor realized it was meant for him, and not for the man Guozhi was treating.

“There is nothing for you to do here. Minseok will be alright,” he assured, “but we must act in haste if we wish to save Junmyeon as well.”

Yixing knew his father had meant that as motivation to move, but at the moment it felt more like a knife to the gut. But he nodded, moving towards the door and trying hard to ignore the sound of Minseok’s cries getting louder with every touch.

He made it out into the hall before his legs buckled underneath him, and he caught himself on the wall before sliding down to sit in the floor.

Yixing held his head in his hands, willing himself to get back up. He had to keep going. He had to go find the king and the queen, and the rest of the council. He had to go tell them what happened, and he knew Junmyeon’s life depended on him doing this. The sooner he found the others, the sooner they could form a plan to get him back.

But what if they were already too late?

Crow had taken Junmyeon, and while the rational side of Yixing was reluctant to believe a sorcerer would go through the trouble of taking a dead prince, there was still the possibility. The sorcerer could be playing with them, stringing them along with hope before crushing it all again when they discovered Junmyeon had succumbed to the curse. But on the other hand, if Junmyeon were alive, and they did not go to his aid…

Yixing buried his face in his hands, breathing harshly as he tried to hold his emotions back. But it was so hard to do so when he knew nothing about how Junmyeon was, or whether or not he would ever see him again. And his last conversation had given Junmyeon that final bit of information he needed, helping him find the loophole in the curse. Had he known what he was going to do, then? Had he already made up his mind?

The image of Junmyeon standing in the doorway of the library flashed behind his eyes, and he nearly lost it, because he had asked Yixing to call him by his name. He had asked, knowing it would be his last time, and Yixing had _refused_. Junmyeon had looked so hurt, and he had assumed it was only because Junmyeon wanted their friendship to be as it was before. But know Yixing knew better.

That had been Yixing’s last chance. And he had thrown it away without realizing what he would lose.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he felt hands on his arms, pulling him up.

“Yixing?” the deep, familiar voice called, and Yixing looked up to see Yifan in front of him. The man must have come looking for them after dinner. “Yixing, are you alright? Why are you out here?”

The sound of Minseok’s yells cut through the hall then, and Yixing watched as Yifan’s face paled, glancing towards the door that led to Guozhi’s room.

“Who is Guozhi treating?” Yifan asked, and Yixing watched the man grow more urgent. “Is… Is it Junmyeon?”

For a brief, selfish moment, Yixing almost wished it were. He wished Junmyeon had been the one left behind, Minseok taken by the sorcerer. He wished Junmyeon had not made it in time to take on the curse. And that wish had Yixing’s stomach turning, bile rising in his throat, because no one deserved to go through such pain.

And yet, Junmyeon had.

“Xiumin,” Yixing responded quietly, pushing the dark thoughts away. “But he is not who you think he is.”

Tears blurred Yixing’s vision as he shook his head, his words cracking around the edges as he told Yifan all that he knew, which was hardly anything at all. The words kept coming, about Minseok and the curse, about Junmyeon and Crow, about the map seared into Minseok’s back, and his task of finding the others for the council, because it was the only way they could find Junmyeon. And Yixing could see the words had not connected in the man’s mind, too sudden to do anything more than overwhelm him, but more than the confusion, Yixing was aware of Yifan’s worry, not just for Junmyeon, but for Yixing.

“You must sit down,” Yifan insisted, steering the advisor towards his father’s door when Yixing’s words gave way to choked breaths. “You are in no state to be on your feet.”

“ _No_ ,” Yixing fired back. He couldn’t stop shaking, his hands fisting the fabric of Yifan’s sleeves, but he couldn’t go back in there and do nothing. He had to be of use. He had to help. “No, I cannot. We must call a council. We must save _Junmyeon_. I must -”

“Easy,” Yifan hushed, and Yixing, for once, listened to the young lord. His silence was enough to have Yifan making a decision, glancing at the door one final time before giving the advisor a nod.

“We will go round up the others,” Yifan said, tugging the other along with him. “The sooner they are alerted, the better.”

Yixing nodded, glancing back up at Yifan as they continued to walk, thankful that at least his friend understood the need to be active. It took him only a moment to realize they were walking in the direction of the royal dining hall, where the king and queen would undoubtedly be.

The king and queen. Junmyeon and _Minseok’s_ parents.

What was he supposed to say? What was anyone supposed to say in a situation like this? How do you tell parents that one of their children was severely injured and the other taken, possibly dead?

Yixing shook his head, chasing away that thought again. “He is alive,” he muttered to himself. “He has to be alive.”

“Hey,” Yifan’s voice cut in, a hand reaching up to wrap around Yixing’s arm, pulling them both to a stop just outside of the dining hall’s doors. “Look at me.”

When Yixing did, Yifan spoke, voice determined and firm. “We _will_ find him, Yixing.”

Yixing glanced between the doors and Yifan, before taking a deep breath and nodding. Yes. They would find Junmyeon. But only after they had gathered the others and revealed what had happened. And that started with the regents.

With a deep breath, he pushed his way through the doors, Yifan following close behind.

-

The Council Room had never been this chaotic. But then again, they’d never encountered a situation like this.

And Yixing understood the confusion. He understood the overwhelming uncertainty, the inability to wrap one’s head around every detail, but unable to ignore the evidence given. Junmyeon was gone, and Minseok was alive, and nothing made sense. Even as Yixing tried to make sense of it, not only for himself, but for the council as well.

He and Yifan had gathered the members, one by one, and Yixing grew wearier with every member that arrived. The king and queen had been the worst, by far, as they were the only ones that had received the full story before the others had been assembled. Junhye refused to look at him since, her face buried in her hands as she sat by her husband’s side, sobbing silently into her fingers. Minki was trying to be more composed, trying to keep his emotions as controlled as possible, but his own tears had clouded his vision, breaths coming out more ragged than before. The others had been left waiting - save his father, who had taken his seat once he had finished his treatment of Minseok, shooting his son a firm nod - their eyes cutting across the room towards the regents in fleeting glances before finding Yixing and Yifan in the middle of it all.

Yixing hated this room’s design, how the council members sat on elevated benches that wrapped around the floor in a near-perfect circle, leaving the person presenting the problem or proposal to stand in the center, surrounded and on display. And with his mentality at the moment, Yixing hardly needed to feel any more vulnerability. He was hardly able to stand, trembling as badly as he was.

But he had done his part, with the encouragement of Yifan by his side, the young lord sticking close to him for support. He had told them all that he knew, of how Junmyeon had been taken by Crow, of how Minseok was alive and mostly well, and how they were left with a gruesome map leading to the younger prince’s whereabouts. Though the burns were still healing, Guozhi had arrived with a transcription of the lines, estimating a journey of roughly three days. Yixing had hardly been able to hold the paper as he spoke, fingers shaking.

And the council members had all listened with rapt attention, not a word passing their lips as Yixing laid out everything he knew. But now that he was done, the floor was open for discussion, and the sheer outburst of thirteen voices, talking over the top of one another, had him reaching out to steady himself against Yifan, grabbing the taller man’s arm.

His ears picked out the familiar voices first, Minki’s sharp words ringing loud and clear amidst the others.

“We must find Junmyeon at all costs and bring him back.”

Though the desperation was evident in his voice, the king was doing all he could to keep his expression calm and firm. Yixing, on the other hand, couldn't hide his own urgency, nodding quickly in agreement with Minki's statement. They had to get Junmyeon back.

But it could never be that easy. Not with the council.

“Acting on impulse will not provide us with the best choice,” another spoke up, a man Yixing simply knew as the Master of Law. “We must look at all sides.”

“What other sides are there, Namjae?” Minki snapped immediately, giving the man an incredulous look. “In what situation would abandoning the crown prince be the _best_ choice?”

“Considering that the true crown prince has returned, it is not an implausible option,” the man to the right of Namjae chimed in, the words sending chills racing down Yixing’s spine, his breath catching in his throat as the others fell silent.

Weishan shifted at Minki’s side, eyes narrowed much like his son’s was at the moment. Weishan served as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and he was as fierce as ever as he spoke. “What exactly are you suggesting, Chinhwa?”

“We have a prince here,” Chinhwa, Master of Coins, continued with a lofty tone, waving a hand towards Guozhi. “Grand Maester, Prince Minseok is alive, correct?”

“He is,” Guozhi answered quietly, though he sent Weishan a silent glance. “Badly burned and in pain, but alive.”

Yixing hadn’t been back to his father’s treatment room since he had left, but he could see the tightness around the older man’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders. Minseok’s wounds were nothing light, and his emotions had worn heavily on Guozhi’s nerves.

And yet Chinhwa smiled, settling back into his chair with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied sigh.

“Then we have our heir.”

“You cannot be serious,” another spoke, further down the line. “You would have us leave Prince Junmyeon in the hands of a sorcerer?”

“Hands that he willingly placed himself into,” a nobleman argued, and Yixing knew this man by reputation - and by having sat through a number of councils with Junmyeon before and listened to the horrible things that came from his mouth. His name was Zixin. He was known to be arrogant, and overall unpleasant in nature, driven by personal gain more than anything else. The only reason he held a seat in this room was his standing in the kingdom, and Yixing had never been more angry at another living person, because who was _he_ to make such a judgment on Junmyeon’s character? Who was he to think he knew Junmyeon _at all_?

“You know nothing,” Yixing spat, drawing the attention of the others. “You speak of Junmyeon as if you know him, but you know _nothing._ ”

“As his friend-turned-advisor, I am sure _you_ know him well,” Zixin shot back, a snort leaving him. “Well enough to stand by unaware as he threw himself into business that is not his own. Or perhaps you advised him on such a poorly-made decision?”

Yixing curled in on himself at the accusation, dropping his gaze to the floor. Because wasn’t it his input that led to Junmyeon’s actions? He was nearly drowning in guilt as it was, but to hear it from someone else, someone on the outside looking in, was much more than he could take. But Yifan bristled at the words, stepping forward to shield Yixing from the other’s view.

“You will address Yixing with respect, or you will not address him at all,” the young lord growled, and Yixing looked up to see the sneer cross his friend’s face.

“I am simply pointing out what we have been told,” the man challenged, unfazed by Yifan’s response. “And an advisor who does not know of the prince’s actions is not a very good advisor, or would you disagree?”

“That is enough,” the Master of Faith, Guiren, interrupted. “We are not here to place blame, or to question this young man’s abilities. We are here to find a solution.”

“There is only one solution. Prince Junmyeon must be saved,” Weishan started again, shooting a look towards Chinhwa and Zixin. “It is only a matter of _how_.”

“Yes, how?” Chinhwa responded. “An army? That will cost the kingdom a very large sum of money. And without solid proof that Prince Junmyeon is still alive -”

“ _He is alive_ ,” Minki roared, all eyes locked on his form. The king was shaking, his eyes pinning Chinhwa with a glare.

“Your Majesty,” Zixin cut in, tilting his head in thought as he leaned forward, “I understand your emotions, but the fact is, no one knows if the prince is still alive. No one but Crow. Who wants us to come and find out. It just seems like an awfully reckless thing to do.”

“But the alternative,” a man behind Yixing cut in, and the advisor turned to look at the new voice, “is leaving Prince Junmyeon in the hands of a sorcerer.”

“If he is alive, and we leave him there, he will surely be killed,” the Master of Ships, Haechul, insisted. “And then Crow will come once more for Prince Minseok.”

“So do we play into the sorcerer’s hands?” Hyunshik, Master of Intelligence, questioned. “Let ourselves be caught?”

“Sorcerer or not, there will only be so much the man can take of an army,” Weishan insisted. “We can overwhelm him, and get Prince Junmyeon back.”

“An army will take time,” Yifan argued suddenly, Yixing watching as the young lord gave his father a pleading look. “Time that Junmyeon may not have.”

“And what would you suggest?” Zixin quipped. “Send one brave soul to their death?”

“No,” Yifan snapped, shaking his head as he stepped forward. “I was suggesting a team of men. We have plenty of men within the gates who are highly qualified. It would take less time to assemble.”

“A team, while faster, would not be as equipped. An army is the best chance we have,” Weishan replied, holding up his hand when Yifan went to counter it. “And if we can end this threat against the kingdom, it is worth that time.”

“But at the cost of more lives,” Guiren mused, a frown working its way onto his features. “Is there not a way to retrieve the prince without more violence?”

“And what would you have us do?” Zixin laughed. “Organize a peace offering?”

“What do _you_ want to do, then, Zixin?” Guozhi barked, uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Because from what I can gather, you have the least to offer to the conversation, yet the most criticism to give.”

The nobleman lifted his chin, peering down his nose at Guozhi with a curled upper lip. “ _We_ do not have to do anything, as long as _you_ have done your job at keeping Prince Minseok alive.”

Yixing glared at Zixin openly, stepping forward to speak before Yifan pulled him back. Before he could defend his father, however, it was Weishan who came to the doctor’s aid.

“Yes, because Crow will certainly leave our kingdom alone if we ignore him,” Weishan hissed, raising his own chin in defiance. “This is not just any sorcerer, and maybe magic has been banned long enough for you to have forgotten the terrors of the Nightshade Rebellion, but I have not. He is powerful, and he is vengeful. The kingdom can only benefit from having this threat be put to an end once and for all.”

“ _If_ the kingdom manages to end it, that is,” Namjae added. “If we do not succeed, we face more danger with less defense and a poor morale amongst the people.”

“The people will always fight for Prince Junmyeon,” Minsheng, the Master of Domestic Affairs, countered as he nodded towards the king and queen, “and any other prince that bears the royal name. While they will be happy to hear of Prince Minseok’s return, Prince Junmyeon is still a member of the royal family, and is loved by the public. He must be saved.”

“Other kingdoms would reject our trade if we so readily turned on one of our own,” Master of Foreign Affairs, Siyu, agreed. “Especially someone as highly regarded as Prince Junmyeon.”

“That is assuming they would find out that it was our decision to leave him,” Hyunshik hummed in thought. “All kingdoms have their secrets.”

“And what have secrets gotten us?” Junhye asked, speaking for the first time. Yixing knew the queen, while valued for her opinion, hardly spoke at such meetings, remaining a silent vote on most matters. But even with her emotions riddling her form, her voice was steady, eyes locked on her hands, which she had lowered from her face and held in her lap.

“Look at us,” she continued, pain in her voice as she shook her head. “Look at what we have done with our secrets. We’ve left ourselves unprepared, vulnerable, and with two young men’s lives hanging in the balance. Secrets do nothing but harm.”

The words hung in the silence that fell over the council room, and Yixing’s throat tightened as the air around him grew thick with tension. Before anyone could protest the queen’s words, Minki was speaking once more.

“It will come to a vote.”

Junhye flinched at his side, but other than placing a hand over hers, Minki made no move to address her. The king sent one final glance at each member of the council, taking a deep breath.

“All in favor of remaining here in the gates, and not retrieving Junmyeon.”

Yixing held his breath, watching as a few hands began to raise, counting as they did. Chinhwa, Namjae, Zixin, Hyunshik…

 _Four_. Yixing counted again, and yes, there were only four votes. That meant -

“All in favor of saving Junmyeon,” the king said next, and Yixing nearly collapsed at the sight of nine hands raising, the air forcing its way into his lungs once more. Yifan reached out to grip Yixing’s arm tightly, his own relief dancing in his eyes, and the advisor reached up to cover the man’s hand with his own.

They would save Junmyeon.

“An army will be assembled,” Minki continued firmly, looking towards Weishan. “How many do you think will be feasible, in as short a time as possible?”

“I imagine I can gather a few hundred men easily,” Weishan said with a nod, sitting straighter in his chair as he glanced to Haechul for verification. “And they can be ready in three days’ time.”

“ _Three days_?” Yifan repeated sharply, the relief suddenly vanishing, replaced by frustration. “It will take that long just to get to the location given on the map.”

And Yixing nodded to the words, because three days seemed like an awfully large amount of time. Without knowing the state of Junmyeon’s health, he hardly wanted to wait another hour, let alone three days. But it seemed the others disagreed.

“It is for the best,” Weishan insisted, shaking his head at Yifan disapprovingly. “Crow is anticipating us whether we leave tonight or three days from now. We _must_ be prepared. It is the only way.”

“If it is indeed a trap, we will need that time to gather men,” Guozhi agreed. “To assure we save Prince Junmyeon, we must try to give ourselves any advantage possible.”

“But Father,” Yifan began, only for Weishan to cut him off.

“Three days, Yifan.”

Yifan fell quiet, his jaw muscles jumping as he fought the urge to speak, even as he kept his gaze on Weishan. Minki rose from his seat, a sign of dismissal, and the other members filed out quietly as the king turned to speak quietly to Junhye.

Before Weishan could even step onto the floor, Yifan was approaching him, relentless in his stance. Yixing followed close behind.

“Father, I ask you to reconsider.”

“We will speak later in private,” Weishan said with a stern look, “but our decision stands.”

“If we wait that long, who knows if Junmyeon will survive,” Yifan argued, walking briskly with his father as the older man moved towards the doors.

“But if we go now, unprepared as we are, it will not be a question of _if_ Junmyeon lives or not. He _will_ die if we go in without a proper plan.”

Yifan was shaking his head before his father could finish, both him and Yixing keeping the other’s pace as Weishan exited the Council Room, They lingered in the hallway just outside, allowing others to pass as Yifan continued to plead his case.

“Father, _please._ ”

“Stop it,” the older man barked, and Yixing tensed at the tone, ducking slightly behind the young lord. “I will not entertain this conversation any longer.”

A hand on Yixing’s shoulder drew his gaze away from the tense set of Yifan’s shoulders, and the advisor looked up to see Guozhi standing near his side.

“Are you alright?” the doctor asked, and Yixing nodded weakly, before including a shrug. No, probably not. Not with the way his hands trembled by his side, his chest aching. But that didn’t matter right now.

His eyes slid over to see Chanyeol and Zitao both approaching, though slowly as they noticed the conversation’s harsh turn. Chanyeol did his best to smile, though it hardly reached his eyes, something that spoke volumes of his stress level. Zitao, too, looked a little more shaken, something Yifan picked up on quickly, his eyes softening as he met Zitao's gaze. Guozhi filled them in with the council’s decision before either could ask, and Yixing watched as the guards grimaced, though they remained silent.

No one in their immediate group was happy with the wait, it seemed. But what could they do? The council's decision was final.

“Any change on Minseok?” the doctor asked, steering the conservation in a different direction when the silence stretched on, and Chanyeol shook his head.

“No, sir. He has been asleep since you left.”

"Jongdae promised he would find us if he woke up again," Zitao added.

“Good,” the older man said with a nod. “His body needs rest. And sleep will allow those burns to begin to heal without him moving too much.”

“I am sure he will make a full recovery in your care,” Weishan added, flashing a tight smile towards Guozhi. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must discuss strategy with Haechul if we are to be ready in our allotted time.”

Weishan went off to find Haechul, and Yifan watched him go with a torn expression, opening his mouth to speak, before something else drew his attention. Yixing followed the man’s gaze, looking towards the doors of the Council Room. Most of the members had left rather quickly, but Minki and Junhye were just emerging into the hallway. The queen kept her eyes down, but Minki gave them all a brief nod, stiff and unreadable, before they turned to leave.

But as they begin to walk down the hallway, Yifan spoke up again, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“They are going the wrong way.”

Yixing frowned, because they were walking back towards their own bed chambers. The queen could hardly walk without the aid of her husband, clutching to him as they moved down the hallway, Minki speaking to her quietly. They needed their own time to adjust to the information, Yixing assumed, and he didn’t understand Yifan’s words.

“Yifan?” he questioned, looking between his friend and the regents.

But then the young lord clarified, his voice holding a note of sheer disbelief.

“Minseok is in the opposite direction.”

Yixing’s heart dropped at the observation, because no, they were not going towards his father’s room where Minseok was recovering. But they had to have known. The entire council knew of Minseok’s current whereabouts. Yixing had not even thought of the regents going to see their son, but now, when they clearly were not doing so at the moment, the realization sunk deep into his bones, leaving an ache in his chest.

And Yifan was practically vibrating with anger.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice growing louder. “Hey, wait a minute.”

Zitao reached out, a hand sliding over his chest to come to a rest on his shoulder, holding the young lord still. He gave a cautious look towards Weishan, who still stood close by. The young guard wet his lips before looking back towards Yifan. “My lord…”

“No, they cannot do this,” Yifan started, brushing past Zitao, eyes narrowed on the regents’ retreating forms. “Wait. _Stop_.”

Minki heard the call, glancing up as Yifan neared, and Yixing watched as the young lord’s hands fisted at his side, stopping just shy of the couple.

"Yifan, my wife is very tired," Minki started, glancing between Yifan and the hallway in front of them. "Whatever more you have to say can wait until tomorrow."

“Why are you not visiting your son?" the young lord questioned firmly, looking between the king and queen, who had paled at her husband’s side. Minki hesitated at the words, pulling Junhye closer before clearing his throat.

“He needs his rest. Guozhi said so himself.”

“Rest does not hinder you visiting,” Yifan shot back, shaking his head. “You are going the wrong way.”

“Tonight, we shall rest, as well,” Minki countered, “and tomorrow, we will visit. Now, if you would please allow us to pass.”

When the regents moved to continue on towards their chambers, Yifan stepped in front of them, blocking their path. Others began to notice the exchange, watching the three with interest, but Yifan paid their attention no mind as he narrowed his eyes at Minki, planting his feet solidly against the wooden floor in defiance.

“Yifan,” the king began, glancing towards the queen - she still had yet to look up, Yixing noted - before turning to face the younger man once more, his own frustration growing. “Please. This does not concern you.”

“No, but it concerns Minseok,” Yifan argued. “He is in a lot of pain. Why do you not go to him?”

“The prince has grown into a fine young man without us for all of these years,” Minki reasoned after a moment, not meeting the young lord’s gaze. “One more night shall not make a difference.”

Yifan paused at the words, before outright scoffing in disbelief. “You say that as if this were all his choice. As if he _wished_ to be cursed and hidden away. Minseok -”

“Is getting the best care possible. That is all we can ask,” Minki cut him off, and Yifan’s temper slipped, his next words edged in anger.

“If it were Jun in that cot -”

“But it is _not_ ,” Minki snapped, his voice harsh in the echo of the hallway. He paused, taking a breath that was meant to calm himself, though Yixing thought it probably did nothing to help settle his emotions. “He is asleep. He will not notice our presence. We will visit when he is awake.”

“Will you?” Yifan challenged with a raised chin. “I am starting to question if you will go see him at all.”

“ _How dare you_?” Minki hissed, his own anger rising. “Do not stand there and lecture me on how I should and should not react to a situation such as this, with everything that I have lost. How could you possibly understand a father’s pain at the loss of a child?”

“Minki,” Junhye whispered, finally looking up at her husband with pleading eyes. Something in Yifan’s words had driven her to respond, and she looked over at the young lord with a new sense of awareness before turning back to the king. “Minki, perhaps we should. Can we not go?”

Minki reached up to cover the queen’s hand, which had risen to clutch the front of his tunic. Yixing could see her trembling from where he stood, and the king’s gaze softened as he squeezed her fingers gently. “You are in no state for such a reunion tonight. And the prince would not be awake to understand.”

He slid his eyes back over at Yifan, his jaw tightening around his next words. “Can you not see how this is affecting her? You think you know best, but you do not. You do not know how we feel.”

“Do you think I am not in pain over Junmyeon? That I do not feel that same agony that you do?” Yifan spat, hand covering his own chest in emphasis. He looked away, eyes shut tight before he turned his attention back to them, desperation in his tone. “How do you think Minseok feels? Having spent all these years alone, only to watch another be taken in his stead? A _brother_ , at that? He is hurting, too. And he needs you just as much as Junmyeon.”

The queen nodded, but Minki was quick to step in again, refusing the words.

“The boy in Guozhi’s room may be the prince, but he is still a stranger.”

“ _He is still your son!_ ” Yifan roared, voice echoing through the halls. Yixing saw the king’s gaze falter, an expression of something Yixing had a hard time pinpointing - doubt? Uncertainty? - casting a shadow across his face for a moment before it was gone. “And if I were in your position, with one son’s fate unknown, I would make _damn_ sure I did not lose the other because of my own selfish hesitations.”

“You are out of line,” Minki hissed.

“And do you know who _is_ visiting him?” Yifan continued with a shake of his head, hand gesturing towards the general direction of Guozhi’s room.

Minki had heard enough, leaving the queen in her spot as he stepped forward, his finger pointing at the young lord in anger. “Yifan, you will be quiet.”

But Yifan ignored the warning, speaking quicker, words growing more heated with every passing second. “Kim Jongdae. He has not left his side, no doubt to assure that when Minseok _does_ wake up, he is not alone. To make sure he knows someone cares for him.”

A sneer passed over Yifan’s lips. “A _stable hand_ has more honor than a king and queen for their own son.”

Yixing flinched at the sound of Minki’s palm hitting Yifan’s cheek, the young man’s head whipping to the side with the force of the slap. All eyes were now on the king, who stood before Yifan with his chest heaving, face red in his anger.

“ _I said quiet._ ”

Yixing could not see Yifan’s expression, but he could see how his hands fisted the fabric of his pants, shaking slightly as he forced himself to stay still, and how Weishan tensed at the action.

“ _Minki_ ,” the queen whispered, her voice painted with shock as she stepped forward to tug the man’s sleeve. “Minki, please.”

Minki’s face turned to look at her, before he let his gaze sweep the room. No one made a move to speak, many averting their eyes, though a few managed to hold the king’s gaze. Weishan, and Guozhi, and Chanyeol and Zitao, and Yixing - all held their ground when Minki’s eyes found them, silent but without backing down. Minki gave Yifan one final look before shaking his head. He took a step back, placing a hand on the small of Junhye’s back and leading her away. She opened her mouth, as if to protest when she realized the path her husband was leading her along was still not in the direction of Minseok, but with a glance spared to the others, she followed the king’s lead, holding his arm as she walked.

When the regents had disappeared from sight, it was Zitao who was the first to move.

The young guard crossed the floor quickly, reaching Yifan in a handful of strides. He reached up briefly to slide his fingers across Yifan’s cheek, over the welt that had begun to form, before letting his hand fall to his arm. “Are you alright, Yifan?”

Yifan gave a curt nod, dropping his gaze to the floor as he brought his face back forward. His fingers unclenched from his pants as he made himself relax, though the anger was still present in his words when he spoke.

“They would leave their own son to suffer alone,” he muttered under his breath, Yixing just barely catching the words as he neared. “ _Monsters_ ,” he whispered, and Zitao’s hand slid down further, long fingers wrapping around the older man’s wrist.

“They are overwhelmed. Give them time.”

“Why do they deserve time when their sons are not given that privilege?” Yifan questioned sharply, looking up at Zitao with such frustration and heartache that Yixing paused in his approach. The young lord was hurting, his emotions slipping through the cracks of his scowl to leave him vulnerable. Yixing could not recall a time where his friend looked so lost, and it left him feeling like he had taken a punch to the gut.

Weishan was next to reach the pair.

“People respond differently to situations,” Weishan said quietly, giving Zitao a nod. The guard stepped back, clearing his throat as a slight blush stained his cheeks, but Weishan paid no mind as he reached up to grip Yifan’s chin, turning his son’s head to the side to examine his cheek. With a nod, he let his son’s face go, sighing. “And we cannot dictate their actions.”

Yifan immediately spoke in protest to the words, shaking his head sharply. “But Father, they are _wrong_.”

“That may be,” Weishan allowed slowly, “and I think Junhye already sees that, though it will probably be morning before Minki does. But that does not mean getting angry will solve the problem.”

Yifan looked away again with a huff, and Weishan sighed, a dry smirk sliding across his features as he observed his son fighting his emotions. “You are far too much like me for your own good. So quick to let your passion consume you.”

“Passion is not a bad thing,” Yifan fired back, and Weishan’s smirk grew, a spark of pride flashing in his eyes.

“No,” he agreed as he tugged at Yifan’s shirt, straightening the fabric. “And neither is the loyalty you’ve shown to your friends. But,” he continued with a raised eyebrow, “it will be best to save that fire for later. It has been a long night. No amount of arguing is going to do any good at this hour.”

Yifan gave his father a hard look before relenting, looking down again in defeat.

“Haechul and I shall have a plan ready by morning,” Weishan assured his son, giving Yifan’s shoulders a squeeze. “We will get Junmyeon back and be done with Crow once and for all. You will see. The preparation time will not be without purpose.”

Yifan looked up again as Chanyeol and Yixing came to a stop by his side, though his eyes were solely on Weishan. Yixing could hear his friend’s question before it was voiced, and could predict the answer as well, though that would never stop Yifan from asking.

“Allow me to accompany you,” the young lord requested, but Weishan shook his head.

“While I admire your desire to help, this is not a conversation you can join while in your current state of mind. You are angry, and you must be tired.” He glanced up at Chanyeol then, giving the young man a nod. “I will allow Captain Park to join me, and he will fill you in tomorrow morning, after you have rested.”

Chanyeol gave a quick nod, straightening as Weishan addressed him. Yixing knew Chanyeol had hoped to be a part of the strategizing, though he did not have as much experience as Weishan or Haechul. The captain had offered his service the minute Guozhi had mentioned the council’s decision, and he would be a vital part of recruiting.

“But Father,” Yifan began, only to earn a stern, yet understanding, look.

“Tomorrow, Yifan. I promise. Go check on the prince, and then go get some sleep.”

Again, Yifan looked away, his upper lip curled in frustration. But his silence was enough of an acceptance for Weishan to leave it at that. With a final pat to the shoulder, the older man pulled away, beckoning Chanyeol to follow him as he made his way back towards Haechul. Zitao started after them, only to hesitate, shooting a concerned look back at Yifan. The young guard was conflicted, torn between joining Chanyeol or staying to assure Yifan was truly alright; fortunately, Chanyeol made the decision for him.

“I will find you after we have discussed the plan,” he assured Zitao, giving him a knowing smile. “Go with Guozhi and the others and keep me informed on Minseok’s progress.”

Zitao nodded immediately, sending the taller guard a grateful look before turning to Yifan once more.

It was then that Yixing reached out to his friend, catching Yifan’s arm just above the elbow. The young lord looked over at him at the touch, and Yixing did his best to smile, though he knew the expression was far more wilted than usual. Neither men felt much like smiling, too worried and tired and upset with everything that was happening around them. But the gesture was enough to reassure Yifan of his presence, that at least, in all of this, Yixing was on his side, and the young lord took it readily, giving the advisor a small smile of his own.

“Yifan is not the only one who needs rest,” Guozhi commented, giving his son a pointed look as he ran a hand across the advisor’s forehead. “You look pale, and I was afraid you would drop at any minute during the council. Perhaps you should go on to bed.”

Yixing frowned at the words, shaking his head, because how was his supposed to sleep at a time like this? But his father countered the refusal before he could outright say it.

“My room will be awfully crowded,” he continued, waving a hand towards the others who stood around them, “what with Yifan and Zitao, here, as well as Jongdae. And you are far too drained to do much more than watch.”

As if to put the last touch on the order, Guozhi gave his son a small nudge, guiding Yixing back towards his own chambers. “Go. I will send someone to fetch you if your presence is needed.”

Yixing was not yet convinced, holding his ground as he gave his father a pleading look. But when he looked to Yifan, and the young man’s smile softened, tossing his chin to indicate Yixing should comply with Guozhi’s wishes, the protest died on the tip of his tongue. He was exhausted, and he had reached his limit. His father was right. He should step away for a while.

With a final promise to come find him should Minseok wake, Yixing turned on his heel, making his way towards his room. But even as he walked, footsteps heavy and mind clouded, he knew he would not be able to sleep.

Not when Junmyeon’s room remained empty.

* * *

  **Nat’s Notes:** Hellooo, lovelies! Fun fact: This chapter could be a celebration for 1) finishing Chapter 10, the last _real_ chapter, and 2) surpassing _100.000_ (~109.600 at the time of writing) words, and 3) surpassing 200 (230 at the time of writing) pages! Also, we’re so sorry for that last chapter (ish). And this, because hah, no answers <33   I do hope you do not mind the… I hesitate with using the word ‘filler’, but there is a lot of talk and thoughts, here, and not much action. But there’s some character build, someone who shines a bit (*cough* Yifan *cough* Meg: COUGH COUGH LOVE HIM COUGH), so I hope you enjoyed it, even with the lack of our dear Prince Junmyeon! Another fun fact: _We only need to write the epilogue. And that hurts._ And with that said, the next chapter will be uploaded… Soon ish, because the epilogue won’t be too long (don’t hold me up on that, because this happens to change often Meg: *sobs*). And with Chapter 10, the epilogue will follow, and in the epilogue’s AN(s), we may have news, so keep an eye out!

I think that’s all. We hope you enjoyed this, despite its length (next will be longer… OTL) and everything. Thank you for reading! And comments warm our cold hearts and make us more inclined to write happy endings <3

 **Meg’s Notes:** We are alive! Our schedules are stupid (Nat: I mean, fucking hell). (But HEY, new poster! Nat: YES. IT’S GORGEOUS  <333) Like Nat said, there was not too much action in this. I mean lots of stuff happened, but all in one night, and no word of Junmyeon! But character development is worth it, right? (We love Yifan in this, truly. And Weishan. Nat: The Wu family is our favourite, truly) But we hope you liked this (incredibly long) update! We are nearing the end (*depressed sigh*), But we will, hopefully, have a better upload schedule this time around. Maybe. We have a lot of other projects going on, including more ideas, so. But enjoy this chapter, and if you feel that gentle tug (or guilt from us saying this, I will take either one, sorry), leave a comment <333 It lets us know people other than ourselves like this story ^^

 

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 10!


	11. A Needle's Prick Shall Right Again

Jongdae was selfish.

Minseok was sleeping at his side on the cot, cheek pressed against the pillow and mouth parted slightly as he breathed. Guozhi had given him a tea brewed with special herbs to lessen the pain and make it easier for him to sleep. The burns were dressed in gauze, and he was sleeping on his stomach to avoid aggravating the wounds - though Jongdae suspected sleeping would not be possible no matter how well-mixed those herbs had been. The pain would be too much.

Thanks to Guozhi’s treatment, Minseok’s sleep was peaceful, his breath even and regular. Compared to the sickly pale complexion Minseok had worn when he had first been brought to Guozhi, he now looked much better. Color had returned to his face, just enough to no longer be a cause of worry, his expression slipping from agony to something much more serene, and sweat no longer clung to his skin.

Minseok would be fine. Minseok was _here,_ was _safe._

And for being happy it was Minseok who was here and not Junmyeon, Jongdae was selfish.

The guilt he felt for having such thoughts, for being relieved it wasn’t Minseok in Junmyeon’s place, left Jongdae with a horrible taste in his mouth. He felt like a traitor, like he was betraying Junmyeon and his friendship. The man was nothing but an amazing friend, loyal to a fault and one of the kindest people Jongdae knew. If anything, Jongdae should be completely devastated. And he _was_ upset at the idea of Junmyeon being taken.

But at the same time, he couldn’t leave Minseok, either. Minseok was his friend as much as Junmyeon, was _more_ than that, and Jongdae would feel terrible no matter who had been on the cot and who had been taken by the sorcerer. But having already accepted Minseok’s death, only for him to survive, had changed things. Now, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to handle living through that grief a second time. And it was with utter relief that he watched Minseok sleep now, knowing he was still with him.

He shifted, moving to sit closer to the edge of his chair, and reached out with a hand to gently card his fingers through Minseok’s hair. It was such a simple thing to do, yet the fact that he _could_ do it had his heart swelling in his chest.

Jongdae continued playing mindlessly with the long dark strands of hair until he heard the click of the door opening and his hand stilled, fingers still tangled in the locks as he glanced up.

Yixing closed the door after him softly, gaze surveying the room shortly before landing on Jongdae. He sent him a smile, weak around the edges, and Jongdae was once again reminded that though Minseok was beside him - and well, considering the circumstances - Junmyeon was not. And Yixing would be the person to take the prince’s disappearance the hardest.

Even after a night’s rest, the advisor looked haggard, as though he hadn’t slept a wink. Which Jongdae wouldn’t find surprising, if that were the case. He hadn’t slept all that much, either, too afraid to give into unconsciousness just yet. What if he fell asleep and Minseok stopped breathing? What if Crow came back and took him as well, vanishing into thin air? He couldn’t let that happen. So Jongdae had stayed awake, despite Guozhi’s chiding, to keep an eye on Minseok as he slept.

But at least he had someone to check on. Yixing only had his pain.

“How is he?” the advisor asked, gaze moving from Jongdae to Minseok.

“He’s better,” Jongdae replied with a small shrug. “Better than he was, at least. And you?”

“Me?” Yixing questioned, slowly moving further into the room, eyes falling to his father’s desk. “What about me?”

Jongdae watched him carefully for a moment, brows pulling together. “How are you feeling with all of… this? With Junmyeon?”

The advisor now stood in front of Guozhi’s desk, fingers trailing across a book cover, then some parchment. “Where is my father?” he asked without looking up, and Jongdae’s frown deepened at the blatant avoidance of his own question.

“He left a little while ago,” Jongdae told the other. “Said he needed more supplies from the market. But you didn’t answer my question, Yixing.”

The words caused Yixing to look up momentarily, meeting Jongdae’s gaze, before he glanced away again. “There is nothing to answer. I am fine.”

That was a lie. Jongdae didn’t believe for one second that Yixing was fine. Even as he observed Yixing quietly, the man seemingly very interested in Guozhi’s desk, no matter how much Yixing tried to look fine, his shoulders were drawn closer, his body tense. Everything in his body language spoke of someone who was not _fine._ He was obviously hurting.

But he hesitated in calling attention to it, when he knew that this strength Yixing was holding onto was the only thing that was keeping him together. Another spike of guilt shot through him at the thought, and he looked away, toying with the hem of Minseok’s bedding.

“If you’re sure,” he said eventually, voice soft. “I just… worry.”

“You and Yifan worry too much about me,” Yixing said firmly, rummaging through a stack of papers. “There are more pressing matters than my emotional state.”

Jongdae pursed his lips, glancing at Minseok, who didn’t appear bothered by their voices. Turning back to Yixing for the moment, Jongdae rested his chin in his palm, keeping quiet for now, because whilst Yixing’s actions earlier could have been explained away as trying to distract himself from their conversation, he wasn’t stopping. Rather, he seemed to be searching Guozhi’s desk for something.

But _what_ was he searching for?

Yixing’s motions halted, and Jongdae noticed him glancing his way, fingers tapping against the wood.

“Has Minseok been awake since my father’s treatment?” the advisor asked steadily, looking at Jongdae again.

Jongdae raised a single eyebrow at the way Yixing was acting, but nonetheless nodded in answer to the question. “Once. He woke up to get some tea from your father, and then fell back asleep. He’s stirred a few times since, but has mostly slept soundly.”

“Did he say anything?” Yixing inquired distractedly, eyes glancing at the desk again, a slight frown marring his face. Jongdae thought it was rather curious, but he humored the advisor anyway.

“Nothing coherent, no,” Jongdae said with a shake of his head, leaning back to sit better in the chair as he observed the other man.

“Nothing about Junmyeon?” Yixing questioned further.

“He didn’t say a word, aside from mumbling Jun’s name when he was made to drink Guozhi’s tea.”

“I see,” Yixing said slowly. He turned around to face Jongdae, leaning against the desk and resting his hands on the surface. “And what about my father? Do you know when he will return from the market?”

“I reckon it’ll be a bit before he comes back,” Jongdae replied, noticing Yixing’s hand moving behind his back to grab a hold of a piece of parchment, the advisor’s eyes trained on the wall. The stable hand chose not to comment on it, however, even as he realized what it was Yixing had been searching for.

The map.

“Do you need him for anything?” Jongdae asked as Yixing slid away from the desk, and the advisor looked up before shaking his head, a faint smile forming on his lips.

“No. It does not matter.”

Jongdae inclined his head in answer, watching Yixing move across the room and back to the door. Lifting a hand to the doorknob, pausing before looking back over his shoulder at Jongdae.

“Please send word if Minseok wakes up. I will be back soon.”

“Be careful, Yixing,” Jongdae advised, and Yixing’s body tensed shortly, before loosening up again. He averted his gaze, looking in front of him again as he pulled down the knob and opened the door. Though he stayed still in the doorway.

Waiting outside were the king and queen, both tense and visibly drawn. There was a hesitation about them, one that Jongdae saw right away, but a determination as well. He stood awkwardly as Yixing stepped aside, greeting them with a slight nod before he left out the door.

“Your Majesties,” Jongdae spoke, bowing low for the regents, carefully pulling his hand away from Minseok, though it almost pained him to do so. “I will let you -”

The king raised his hand and shook his head, halting Jongdae as he started for the door.

“There is no need for you to leave,” he declared, gesturing back to the chair Jongdae had been sitting on.

As Jongdae sat back down, carefully, the king straightened his back, eyes going to Minseok’s form. Jongdae recognized the flash of fear, there one moment, gone the next. He knew it wasn’t Minseok per se they feared, but his response to seeing them there when he woke up. Jongdae had seen the same uncertainty in Minseok during his stay at the castle, particularly after he had seen the queen up close at the festival.

For the parents to be uncertain of how they would have to interact with someone they didn’t know, as well, was only to be expected. Someone who knew they gave up on him.

Despite all that, however, they had come. Stronger than the fear in both the king and queen’s eyes was the determination, the will to try to make everything, if not good, then better.

“If he wakes,” the king said slowly, appearing as hesitant as a ruler possibly could, eyes still trained on his son, “it may be best for you to be here, as well. We were told you have been a large help in calming him.”

Jongdae bowed his head, aware of the implications of that sentence as heat rose to his cheeks. It seemed his relationship - whether seen as a simple friendship or for what it truly was - was beginning to warrant talk from others. “If you wish, Your Majesty.”

After that, there was only silence, the king finding a chair for himself as the queen sat on the edge of the bed. She lifted her hand to gently push away some stray locks from Minseok’s forehead, and Jongdae focused his gaze on Minseok when he noticed the tears gathering in the queen’s eyes.

He watched as the king reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but no words were said between them.

They didn’t need words. Jongdae understood, either way.

-

If the night’s rest were supposed to diminish Yifan’s anger, it had not done its job. Much like the bruise that still adorned his cheek, his emotions were still visible in his actions and voice, not faded at all like his father had hoped. Yifan was _furious_ , and it only grew more difficult to hold his anger in the longer he stood in Yixing’s bedroom, watching as the advisor packed.

“I am going with you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“No, you are not,” Yixing replied easily, tiredly, like he had to explain himself to an angry toddler. “You are staying here.”

“Like hell I am,” Yifan bit out.

He had gone looking for Chanyeol and Zitao early that morning, when no one had come to inform him of his father’s plans to rescue Junmyeon. But when he went to the training grounds, there had been no sign of the two guards, and so he had extended his search. He had been surprised to find them both settled in Yixing’s bed chambers, heads bent in discussion as Yixing flitted around the room, gathering supplies. With the transcription of the map lying close by, it was not so difficult for Yifan to put the missing pieces together.

Yixing was not going to wait for the army to go get Junmyeon. He was going himself. And he was taking Chanyeol and Zitao with him, and they were going to leave in less than an hour. Without Yifan.

Zitao had looked up at him like a child being caught doing something terribly wrong, and Chanyeol had only appeared indifferent. But Yixing had met his frown with a determined expression, shoulders squared as he told Yifan of the hastily made plan. A plan that did not involve Yifan.

And it was that detail that sent Yifan spiraling into anger.

But Yixing seemed hell-bent on making sure the young lord did not accompany them on the journey.

“You must stay here,” Yixing insisted, stuffing another bag of food into his sack. Things that didn’t rot quickly, Yifan noted.

“And yet you get to go?” Yifan shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is my fault,” Yixing muttered without looking up. “It is my responsibility to fix this.”

“You can hardly fight,” the young lord argued, ignoring the way Yixing flinched at those words. “You will be killed.”

“I am much smarter than you give me credit for,” the advisor responded, eyes on his belongings. “And I will have Chanyeol and Zitao with me. They are both skilled fighters.”

“ _I_ am a skilled fighter,” Yifan nearly hissed. He glanced at Zitao then, the man dutifully looking away, a small frown on his face. “Tao, tell them. I have been sparring with you for months now. I have improved, have I not?”

Zitao refused to answer, and Yifan felt like throwing something.

“Improvement or not, you are still a noble,” Chanyeol spoke then, and if he felt the intensity of Yifan’s glare, he didn’t show it. “We already have a prince’s life on the line. We cannot risk letting Crow have a lord, as well.”

“That is not fair,” Yifan barked. “I - you are telling me I cannot go because of my _title_?”

“Among other things,” Yixing interjected, finally finished with his packing and turning to meet Yifan’s glare.

“ _Like what_?” Yifan said in exasperation, and even in his anger, he could see Yixing’s eyes soften, just a bit.

“I cannot lose another friend,” he stated quietly, though his voice held a note of finality. “I cannot allow you to go, Yifan.”

“But I can lose all of my friends?” Yifan spat, and this time, Yixing’s facade did slip. “Have you forgotten that Jun is my friend, as well? That _you_ are my friend? What am I to do if you do not succeed?”

This was all happening so fast. Junmyeon was gone, and now here was Yixing, telling him he would go face a sorcerer, that he would take Chanyeol and Zitao with him. And he was supposed to stay here? How was he supposed to remain out of harm’s way when he knew all of his closest friends were willingly placing themselves in danger?

It didn’t make sense. None of this made _sense_. But try as he did, it didn’t seem like anyone was willing to take notice of his side.

Yixing stared at him for a long moment, before shaking his head. “I am sorry, Yifan. But you will not go with us.”

Yifan took the words in, looking around to the others, pleading for _someone_ to speak for him, to help him change Yixing’s mind. But all he was met with was Chanyeol shaking his head, and Zitao avoiding his gaze. No one would help. And it hurt so much more than he thought it would.

Before realizing what he was doing, he lashed out, the bookshelf fastened to the wall taking the brunt of his anger as he cleared the top of all it contained with a swing of his arm. Books toppled to the floor, the distinct sound of glass shattering mixing in as a vile of ink was also caught in his warpath, and his throat burned with his rage. He wondered if he had yelled; the way Zitao had paled made him suspect he had.

All the while, Yixing only watched, letting Yifan take out his frustration without trying to stop him. Yifan’s chest heaved as he threw one final glare at the advisor before he stormed out of the room, lest his anger cause him to do something he would really regret.

His footsteps were loud against the stone floor as he pushed his body to get away, to just leave and not look back. He could feel his body humming with rage, but there was also the undertone of sorrow, of frustration and helplessness and so many things that had Yifan’s chest feeling like it was torn into pieces.

He needed to act. To do something to help. That was all he wanted. He wanted to help Junmyeon. He wanted to help Minseok. He wanted to help Yixing, and Chanyeol, and Zitao. But no one was willing to let him, and he _hated_ this.

The hand on his arm startled him, and he jerked, swinging out to shove away whoever it was that grabbed him. But his hand was caught mid-swing, and he looked up to see Zitao by his side, his face full of concern.

“Do not do this,” Zitao whispered, the words gentle in tone, and Yifan sneered.

“Leave me alone,” Yifan growled, shaking off the younger man as he tried to move further down the hall. He didn’t want to talk to Zitao. He didn’t want to see whatever pity the other man held for his situation. Not when he wouldn't speak for his case back in Yixing’s room. Not when the guard couldn’t even _look at him_.

But Zitao was looking at him now, imploringly so, and he stepped in front of Yifan when he tried to continue on.

“Stop this,” Zitao ordered, and when Yifan tried to sidestep him again, he found his back against the wall, Zitao’s hands holding him firmly against the surface. He made a noise in the back of his throat at the motion, at being pinned by the younger guard so quickly, but Zitao did not give him time to protest.

“You have every right to be upset,” Zitao started, only for Yifan to cut him off, still struggling to push the other man off.

“I have every right to go with you,” he countered harshly when he realized Zitao wouldn’t back away. “And yet the three of you forbid me. Like I am a _child_. Like I would do nothing but be in the way.”

“You know that is not our intentions,” Zitao tried again, shaking his head. “As a noble -”

“What good is a title if I am not allowed to do anything?” Yifan interrupted again, anger nearly rolling off him in waves as he gave up trying to get away in favor of openly glaring at the younger man. “If it cannot get a parent to visit you when you need them most, as it has done for Minseok? If it means I must stay behind and watch everyone else risk their lives?”

“You are important to this kingdom,” Zitao said softly, and Yifan surged forward and twisted, reversing their positions until it was Zitao pinned to the wall. Yifan had taken a hold of the younger’s wrists, pushing them up by his head to give himself leverage, Zitao looking up at him in surprise even as Yifan seethed.

“ _You are important to me!_ ” he roared, his nose nearly bumping Zitao’s with their proximity. “You, and Chanyeol, and Junmyeon, and Yixing. All of you are important to _me_!”

Zitao stilled underneath his hold, staring up at Yifan with wide eyes as Yifan’s chest heaved, brushing Zitao’s with every breath. He could feel the guard’s pulse, underneath his hands, and he watched as Zitao wet his lips without thought.

“Yi-” Zitao started to call, but Yifan didn’t wait for him to finish before he was pushed forward, stealing the rest of his name from Zitao’s mouth with his own.

Zitao’s lips were much softer than Yifan had ever imagined - and he _had_ imagined, multiple times - as he kissed him. Soft and pliant and _responsive_ , in a way that had Yifan’s head spinning, even as his frustrations still lingered in his veins. But he put all of that energy into his kiss, into making Zitao see just how much he hated being left behind. How much he hated the idea of everyone else being taken away from him as he stood by and did absolutely nothing.

And Zitao gave that energy back willingly, meeting every action with his own. One of Yifan’s hands slid from Zitao’s wrist, slipping behind to settle on the back of Zitao’s head, pushing forward and up to make Zitao’s head tilt back, giving him better access. Zitao arched into his hold, pushing his chest harder against Yifan’s as a whimper slipped from his lips, one that Yifan swallowed hungrily.

When Yifan released both of Zitao’s hands, the guard grabbed a hold of his shoulders, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s neck to hold him in place. As if Yifan would ever think of pulling away. With his hand no longer holding the younger man to the wall, Yifan’s fingers trailed down, gripping Zitao just behind his thighs, and yanked.

Strong legs wrapped around his waist, and Yifan pushed Zitao even further into the wall, letting the wood hold them in place as he continued to ravish Zitao’s mouth. Zitao’s hands found Yifan’s hair, and Yifan outright groaned when the man tugged the slightest bit. His hips bucked up hard against Zitao and earned a sharp cry from the other as he ground down against Yifan.

He wanted to take him. He wanted to carry Zitao to the nearest bedroom and show him just how important he was. He wanted the man to _writhe_ in pleasure, to scream his name as he fucked him open again and again. As he made him _his_.

But already Yifan could feel time slipping away. Zitao would be leaving in an hour, probably less. And while his body _needed_ , he knew he wouldn’t be able to let him leave if he acted on that need.

He began to slow his kiss, albeit reluctantly, holding Zitao’s hips firmly in his hands to slow his motions, to gain some sense of clarity that he couldn’t find when Zitao was moving against him so desperately. When he finally pulled away, it was only enough to speak, lips still brushing against Zitao’s skin as he did so.

“Promise me you will come back.”

“I will,” Zitao responded breathlessly, unable to keep from pressing his lips to Yifan’s again. “I swear it, Yifan. I will.”

Yifan’s eyes shut tightly as he kissed Zitao again, once, twice for good measure, before letting the guard back down to his feet. But not out of his grasp. He held Zitao close, still catching his breath as his fingers dug into the small of Zitao’s back.

When he opened his eyes, Zitao was already watching him, his gaze dark with lust and sorrow. The young lord did his best to smile, though he knew it was useless. Zitao took note of the struggle, reaching up to slide his palm along Yifan’s cheek before sealing his mouth over his again, Yifan’s eyes sliding closed.

And then Zitao was gone, pushing out of Yifan’s space and down the hall. Yifan didn’t check to see if the guard looked back, knowing if he turned to watch him leave, he would follow.

And, like before, he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to do so.

-

The journey itself was not as taxing as Yixing had feared it would be. It was long, yes, and his muscles ached from their pace - he had pushed himself a bit too much, despite Chanyeol’s warnings - but there was nothing that made it particularly challenging. The map was relatively easy to follow, the terrain manageable to navigate, and it was more or less a straight shot.

Yixing didn’t know if that were a blessing, or something to fear. After all, Crow was practically inviting them in with open arms, waiting for them to arrive. It would have been smarter to wait, to go with a full army of men. But they didn’t have that kind of time. Even still, it felt like a trap. It felt like a death wish.

But Junmyeon was worth any amount of danger, in Yixing’s mind.

It wasn’t until they had reached the castle that Yixing felt the first twinge of fear run down his spine, glancing nervously at Chanyeol and Zitao as the structure came into sight.

The building was dark, stones worn over time, almost in ruins. It sat precariously at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Eastern Sea, looking as if it were just waiting to slip, to rejoin the rocks in the water below. The surrounding forest had grown up around it as well, nearly taking the building over in spots, vines tangled around the pillars and towers. Yixing imagined it would have had an advantage with outside attacks, in its glory days, with the ocean on one side and nothing but the forest on the other. The occupants would be able to see enemies coming for miles. But now it looked deserted, as if no one had lived there for decades.

Yet the air around it hummed with energy, magic drenching every inch of the place. Crow was here. And so was Junmyeon.

“We must be careful,” Chanyeol said quietly as they approached, his hand held on the hilt of his sword. “He is more than likely expecting us.”

Yixing gave a stiff nod, his own hand falling to grip his sword tightly. “Is there a plan?” he asked, and he saw the quirk of Chanyeol’s lips in his peripheral vision.

“Besides getting Jun back? Not really. Don’t get yourself killed, I suppose.”

“Your words are very reassuring,” Yixing deadpanned, and Zitao chuckled at his side.

“I try,” Chanyeol said with a shrug, before turning serious once more. “When we get inside, stay close. It would not bode well to be separated.”

“Right,” Yixing said, positioning himself just behind the two guards. His hands were already shaking.

The main entrance was a heavy oak door, some sort of intricate design carved into the surface. It wasn’t until Chanyeol had shouldered his way through the entrance that Yixing realized what the design was. Nightshades. The wood was covered in nightshades, the flowers sprawling across the wooden surface.

The castle was quiet, nothing but the sound of their boots on the stone floor meeting them as they stepped inside. Here, the magic was thick in the air, enough to have Yixing feel like his hair was on end, but there was no sight of Crow. No sight of anyone, really.

Zitao shifted by his side, peering into the darkness that stretched in front of them, the light spilling in from the door only reaching so far.

“I don’t like this,” the younger guard whispered, and Yixing flinched at his voice, loud in the silence.

“Neither do I,” Chanyeol agreed, drawing his sword fully and holding it in front of him defensively. Yixing followed suit, nearly dropping the weapon as he did so as Zitao drew his effortlessly.

Something shifted, a gentle sound from somewhere beyond the light of the doorway, and Chanyeol raised a hand to halt them. As if Yixing needed any more reason to freeze on the spot. The captain didn’t take his eyes off the darkness in front of them, keeping his attention on the direction the noise came from.

“Tao,” he rumbled, and Zitao gave a quick nod, taking a step away from Chanyeol to cover him. Yixing’s chest was heaving as he stepped closer to Zitao, not liking the sudden distance between himself and the guards. But as he did so, something gave, and suddenly there was a rush of air and sound.

Yixing yelped as he clutched to Zitao’s tunic, watching as Chanyeol took the brunt of the air, the force of it pushing him back. The tall man stumbled, caught off guard by the gust - where was it coming from? - and Yixing looked on in horror as Chanyeol toppled back, falling to the ground just outside the door. The door swung forward, slamming shut and throwing Yixing and Zitao into the dark with little warning.

“Chanyeol!” Zitao shouted, before another rush of air swirled around him and Yixing. The advisor waited for the push, but it never came. Instead, the air continued to spiral, and then there was light, torches that had been fastened to the wall but left cold sparking, burning brightly as the castle’s interior was revealed, the air stilling at last.

Banging at the entrance startled Yixing, and then he and Zitao were rushing to the door, yanking at the handle. They could hear Chanyeol just on the other side, furiously pounding against the wood, but no amount of strength from him or from the others could budge the door.

“Shit,” Zitao cursed under his breath, eyes wide as he looked at Yixing. Chanyeol was stuck outside. And they were trapped.

Laughter, light and hollow, echoed down the hall.

“ _Oh, God_ ,” Yixing whispered, turning to press his back against the door. Chanyeol continued to hit the other side, sending small jolts through the advisor as his eyes darted around the hall. It was bare, save a badly worn rug and the handful of torches that lit the way, but even if he couldn’t _see_ anything threatening, he could _feel_ it.

“We have to move,” Zitao said softly, raking a hand through his hair. “We can’t linger by the door.”

“But Chanyeol -” Yixing started, only for Zitao to shake his head.

“Chanyeol will find a way in, but for now, he is of no help to us. And if we stay here, we will be an easy target. We must move.”

Yixing nodded. Yes. He was right. They needed to move.

He took a shuddered breath, pushing himself away from the door and further into the castle, Zitao close by his side.

The castle was just as unkempt on the inside as it looked on the outside. Broken furniture, ripped paintings, and threadbare rugs was all that remained to show that someone had indeed lived here, and Yixing couldn’t imagine how anyone would willingly reside in this place. Everything was decayed. Rotting away.

Yixing’s senses were in overdrive as he and Zitao reached the end of the hall, stepping out into a larger space with high ceilings, stone floor left bare. A throne room, Yixing guessed, glancing towards the opposite end. Well, what would have been the opposite end. Instead of a wall, the far side was open to the outside, the stones falling away from the rest of the structure. Yixing felt the ocean breeze around him, could hear the sound of the waves hitting the cliff below, and he shuddered.

“Do you see anything?” he asked Zitao in a small voice, and the guard shook his head.

“There’s no one here,” the younger man replied, but neither of them missed the sound of that horrible, tinkling laughter as it bounced around them.

“My, you are unobservant,” a voice said, and when Yixing looked again, he caught movement in the shadows along the far side. A ripple, almost like smoke, and then there was a man. It was as if he materialized out of the wall itself, and Yixing’s grip on his sword tightened to an almost painful hold.

The man stepped further into the light, the breeze at his back lifting his clothes and hair slightly, and Yixing fought the gasp at his features. He was thin, so thin. Drawn cheeks and greyed skin, hair thin atop his head. He moved like water, fluid and slinking, but the calm smile that was on his face hardly hid the glint of madness in his eyes. Dark and dangerous, an energy about him.

This must be Crow.

Yixing had heard of the effects of dark magic on the user, of how it would drain the body, corrode the mind. It was like a disease, decaying the wielder from the inside out, pulling the owner of that magic deeper into the corruption until they were pushed into insanity, or until their body literally rotted away.

He was almost as decayed as his castle, it seemed. But Yixing knew that was not an accurate portrayal of his strength. The man was powerful.

“There is no need to linger by the hall,” Crow chided with a smile. “You are the honored guests, after all. Though I must say, I expected the Kim family to send more than two guards and an advisor.”

He tilted his head, his smile growing sharper as he observed Yixing fully. “A terrified advisor, at that.”

Yixing stared in shock, because how had the man known who he was? Crow seemed to read the confusion in his expression, letting out a soft sound of realization.

“Ah, yes. I know who you are, Zhang Yixing. Just as I know Captain Park Chanyeol, and just as I know Huang Zitao.”

“How?” Zitao asked impulsively, and Crow turned his grin to him.

“I have been watching Minseok since he was only an infant. Do you not think I would continue to watch him as he grew? Even when he returned to the castle, he could not escape my watch. And in turn, I watched you as well.” He let out a small sigh, one Yixing imagined was supposed to sound sad, but didn’t quite have the intended effect. “Pity others had to be brought into this curse, when it was meant for Minseok, but these things do happen.”

Zitao bristled at the tone, holding his sword higher. “Where is the prince?” he barked out, Crow’s gaze sliding lazily over to him.

“So eager,” Crow tsked, shaking his head. “Must you leave so quickly? Please. Stay awhile.”

The guard widened his stance, steeling his gaze. “Answer me.”

“That will not do,” the sorcerer hummed with a click of his tongue, stepping closer. “I do not like rude guests.”

Zitao moved to close the distance further, and Crow looked almost bored as he lifted his hand, three fingers flicking to the side as if swatting away a fly. Yixing breath caught in his throat as Zitao was thrown by some invisible force, lifted off the ground and tossed against the wall like it was nothing. The guard cried out as his back hit the stone wall hard, before his body collapsed on the floor. He didn’t move again.

“ _Tao_ ,” Yixing let out in a choked voice, eyes wide in fear. He flinched when Crow laughed, the advisor’s attention snapping back to the sorcerer.

“See? Much better,” Crow said with a cheerful sigh, smiling at Yixing as if they were sharing a private joke. When Crow went to move towards him, he lifted his sword once more, higher in front of him than before. He could hear Junmyeon’s words in his head, coaching him, guiding him.

With as much confidence as he could muster, he adjusted his grip, bringing his hand up to rest underneath the guard, widening his stance and straightening his back for more balance. He felt stronger, the sword less awkward in his hands and his footing more sure.

Crow watched the motions with a smirk, cooing at the advisor. “Aw, they taught you to fight. How precious.”

“Stop it,” Yixing bit out, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He couldn’t stop his yelp when the air around him stirred again, pushing him back before he could find his stance again.

Crow laughed, head tilting back at Yixing’s flustered movements. “What is wrong, Yixing? Are you not brave, like young Junmyeon? Are you a coward?”

Yixing gritted his teeth, sending the man a glare. He wasn’t fighting fair. It would never be fair, fighting against sorcery.

“Cowards are the ones who hide behind a shield of magic!” he spat before he could think better of it, and Crow’s gaze sharpened.

“Ah, you think I have an advantage? That I cannot kill you without my power?” Crow said with a raised eyebrow. He lifted his hand into the air, and black smoke filled his palm, running through his fingers. Yixing watched as the smoke gained solidity, became a sword. Crow rotated it in his hand once, testing the weight, before bringing it up in challenge. “Very well, child. Show me what you have learned.”

Yixing paused for only a second, taking in the man’s relaxed stance, before his grip tightened on his sword. He charged quickly, swinging the weapon blindly towards the man’s chest. Crow waited until he had extended fully and knocked the flat of his blade against Yixing’s, ripping the sword from the advisor’s fingers. The metal clattered loudly against the stone floor, and Yixing bit his lip as he glanced between the man and his discarded weapon. If he were trying to prove his worth as a fighter, he had just thrown all of Junmyeon’s teaching away.

Crow grinned at his panicked hesitation, throwing a nod towards the fallen sword.

“Pick it up, boy. I would not want you to feel at _a disadvantage._ ”

Yixing didn’t question the opening, stooping quickly to pick up the sword as he kept his eyes on Crow, wary of any sudden movements he might make. But the sorcerer only watched with a bored expression, half-amused at Yixing’s fumbling.

The advisor flexed his fingers around the hilt of the sword, this time thinking back to those sparring lessons he was forced to endure. Find a weakness, he had been told. Everyone had a weakness. But looking at Crow now, Yixing was hard pressed to find anything to go on. Despite his age, he moved as well as any of Chanyeol’s men, if not better. What was he supposed to do when he couldn’t find a flaw in the man’s abilities?

He must have hesitated a moment too long, for Crow spoke up with a condescending sneer. “Is that all they showed you? How to lose your sword?”

Yixing pulled his shoulders back, meeting Crow’s gaze with his own defiant glare. The man’s mouth was going to be his biggest obstacle, it would seem.

“Are words all you have?” he hissed in reply, and Crow outright cackled at the question.

“Oh, my dear boy, it seems that is all _you_ have, and yet you never used the right ones.” His head tilted in thought, and Yixing could already tell he wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Tell me, did you ever tell brave Junmyeon of your feelings? Or did words fail you there, as well?”

Yixing remained silent, lips pressed together to form a tight line. So this was Crow’s game. He’d taunt his opponent until he got to their head, stirring emotions that would cloud his judgement, make him act in haste. Little did he know, Yixing took pride in his patience, and it would be that patience that would keep him alive, if he kept his wits about him.

“Oh, what is this?” Crow egged on, lifting his eyebrows in mock surprise. “A silent advisor? I am sure your prince was used to your silence when it came to your emotions for him.”

“What do you know of emotions?” Yixing asked against his better judgement, circling around Crow slowly, looking for any opening.

The sorcerer snorted through his nose. “Oh, about as much as a _nightingale_ , I suppose.”

Yixing tensed at the mention of the nightingale, and then cursed himself for his reaction. He shouldn’t be surprised by this man’s knowledge of his personal life. He had already proven that not much went unseen by his eyes. But that didn’t mean Yixing was ready to have his affections for Junmyeon dangled in his face, least of all by the one man who had Junmyeon hostage.

Crow’s maniacal laughter echoed through the throne room. “Yes, I know even _that_.” He shifted, and Yixing couldn’t help stepping back, further away as Crow continued, “Tell me, does that make Junmyeon the rose?”

Again, Yixing refused to rise to the bait.

“I suppose it would,” Crow answered his own question, with a grin. “It is such a _wonderful_ story.”

Yixing barely caught the way Crow’s hand tightened. “My favorite part is when the nightingale _bleeds._ ”

Crow lunged forward, sword raised to deliver what would certainly be a fatal blow. Yixing had only just enough time to deflect, clumsily lifting his sword to meet the swing and using the man’s momentum to push him away. Crow let himself be pushed, chuckling the whole time.

Yixing deflected another blow as Crow rounded on him, this time with the sword aimed for his side. The sorcerer almost seemed miffed at the block, his face pulling into a mockery of a pout.

“So you _do_ have some fighting ability. That is a shame. I was hoping to end this quickly.”

“Things do not always go the way you want them to,” Yixing replied as he put more distance between them. He shot a glance towards Zitao, who still lay on the floor, unmoving. He needed the guard to wake up. And what of Chanyeol? Had the man found a way inside yet? He didn't know if he could handle facing this man alone.

“And yet, _here you are_. Fighting for your prince,” Crow said with a flourish of one hand, before swinging low at Yixing’s leg. The advisor went to block, and Crow flicked his wrist, bringing the blade up faster that Yixing anticipated and slicing into the skin of his upper thigh. He let out a gasp, hand reaching down to cover to wound as pain seared through his leg, and Crow smiled in triumph, stepping back again.

“I would say this is _exactly_ what I wanted.”

Yixing clenched his jaw against the pain, pulling himself to stand up straight as he met Crow’s gaze head on. He shouldn’t give the man a reaction, but he couldn’t help his quiet response, every word dripping with determination.

“I will get him back.”

That seemed to please Crow. “I would like to see you try.”

When Crow lunged again, it was Yixing this time who took advantage of the extension. Sidestepping the attack, he brought his blade up fast, just grazing the man’s arm with his sword. It pulled a surprised hiss from the other, and though it was hardly a scratch, it was enough to have Yixing grinning in victory.

Crow examined the wound with a sneer, glaring at Yixing with open irritation.

“You annoying little brat.”

With a wave of his hand, the sword disappeared, and Yixing watched as Crow threw a hand towards him. In an instance, his own sword was thrown to the ground, skidding out of reach. The advisor glared at the man, ignoring the fear that crept back into his mind from being left defenseless.

“So you _are_ a coward, running back to magic to win your battles?”

Crow sent him a wicked grin. “I prefer the term ‘opportunist’.”

When he waved his hand again, Yixing felt the breath leave him in a rush, his body picked up and tossed across the room. He hit the floor hard, rolling a few times before coming to a stop just shy of the cliff opening. A cry left him at the sight of the water below, hands scrambling to pull himself away from the ledge. He didn’t quite make it to his feet before Crow was there, hand reaching out to wrap tightly around his throat. He was lifted easily, and Yixing gasped, grabbing at the man’s arm.

“Pathetic,” Crow chided, stepping forward, towards the cliff. Yixing felt his feet drag across the stone floor before the ground was gone completely, feet hanging in the air as he was dangled over the side. A whimper left him as he felt gravity begin to pull him down, eyes squeezing shut in his fear.

“I wonder if you fly like a nightingale,” Crow mused, his voice reaching Yixing over the sound of the waves below. “Or if you would sink like a stone in the water below.”

Yixing clawed at the man’s wrist, struggling to hold onto what felt like a very fleeting grip on him. It would be so easy for Crow to drop him. So easy to end the fight once and for all. And Yixing could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes, fear overwhelming him. He tried to choke out a response, but all that came out was garbled words.

But then, Crow’s head was cocking to the side in thought. “Ah, but that would not fit the story, would it? What was it that killed the nightingale? Thorns?”

His feet found the floor once again as Crow stepped back, and Yixing nearly sobbed in relief. They moved further into the throne room, Yixing half dragged by Crow as he continued to fight the man’s hold. Yixing thrashed when the sorcerer raised his hand, a smile dancing on Crow’s features.

“I do not have thorns,” he continued softly, and that inky black smoke appeared once more, creating a smaller blade in the man’s hand. “But a dagger will do.”

The sight of the dagger renewed the fight in Yixing, who began to pull desperately at Crow’s hold on him. He had to get away. If he didn’t, he was going to die. But what could he do? He couldn’t fight off Crow’s grip, and he wouldn’t be able to get to his sword. With the added element of magic, his chances of avoiding the dagger and his inevitable death were looking slim. But there had to be something, _anything_ , that would give him the advantage. He needed leverage. He needed _a weapon_.

He wasn’t going to be able to avoid the blade. He knew that as Crow tightened his grip and reared back, dagger held firmly in his hand.

But he could control where it hit.

Yixing twisted at the last possible moment, thrusting his shoulder forward despite the hold on his neck. The dagger was brought down hard, but missed the intended target of his chest, and instead plunged into the muscle of shoulder.

It hurt like hell, so much more than Yixing anticipated, but with a sharp yelp he reached out to yank Crow closer by the arm, grimacing when the action pushed the dagger deeper as well.  With as much strength as he could muster, he threw his injured arm around Crow’s shoulder and tugged him down to his side. The sorcerer released the dagger in surprised, and only when Yixing had him firmly held at the level of his hip did he reach up and grab the handle of the blade still buried in his shoulder. A yell was ripped from him as he pulled the blade out of his body, before he brought the dagger down hard in the middle of Crow’s back, the man gasping in shock and pain.

When Crow’s legs gave out beneath him, Yixing sunk down with him as well, refusing to let go of his hold on the other man’s neck even as it jolted his own wounds. Once his knees hit the stone floor, he pulled the dagger from the man’s back once more, flinching at the choked gasp that left the sorcerer. With quick, sharp movements, before Crow could fully regain his bearings, Yixing sank the tip of the blade into the man’s gut and pushed forward until his fingers were resting against Crow’s stomach, the hilt flush against the skin.

Crow grasped Yixing’s wrist weakly, his breath shuddering as it entered his lungs. “Well, this was unexpected.”

Yixing couldn’t help leaning forward, digging the blade in further. “Where is Junmyeon?”

Crow scoffed at the question, even as his face scrunched in pain. “Perhaps you should have asked such questions before you stabbed me,” he snapped, the words breathless in tone. “It is getting increasingly more difficult to speak.”

This time, Yixing twisted the blade, holding Crow by the upper arm when he tried to turn away from the intrusion. The longer Crow delayed, the more desperate his urgency to find Junmyeon became, and the worse Yixing would make this for the sorcerer. “Stop with these games! _Tell me where he is!_ ”

The sorcerer tensed in anguish, gasping in a shaky breath. “The tower,” he choked out, even as he smiled, peering at Yixing through lidded eyes. “But it is too late.”

Yixing nearly lost his grip on the dagger, drawing in a sharp breath. “What? No. No, it cannot…”

He wasn’t too late. _He wasn’t._ He had to have made it in time. He bared his teeth in a snarl, shaking his head adamantly as Crow continued to smirk at him. “You will fix this. Junmyeon will -”

Crow’s weak laughter cut him off. “I cannot fix a _curse,_ boy. It is done.”

The panic threatened to choke Yixing, and he forced himself to speak, to not allow Crow’s words to be true. “He is not twenty-four. The curse said -”

“I know what the curse said,” Crow said condescendingly, even as he struggled to breathe. His breaths were coming shallower, now. “But he will not wake. Not when he took it by his own free will. And when he _does_ reach the proper age, he will die.”

Yixing startled when Crow’s hand grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his cheek rested against the other’s, mouth pressed to his ear. His words came out in a whisper, but Yixing flinched as if Crow had yelled them, their meaning sinking down into his gut like a stone.

“And you will only be able to watch.”

“No,” Yixing hissed, his words leaving him in a rush. “No, there _has_ to be something. All curses can be broken.”

Crow pulled away with a smirk, words wheezed with his lack of oxygen. “Tell that to your rose.”

Yixing’s hands were shaking now, struggling to keep a grip on the dagger as he met Crow’s gaze. “But you…” He trailed off, unable to voice the words.

Crow sent him a knowing grin, though his eyes struggled to focus on Yixing’s face. “I’m what? Dying?”

The older man forced out a laugh, the action turning into a wet-sounding cough. “Magic extends beyond life,” he said softly, a trickle of blood sliding from the corner on his mouth as he choked on his breath, smirk still intact despite the light fading from his eyes. “And so… will your regret.”

Yixing paled as the man’s eyes lost focus completely, becoming dull as he pushed out one final, trembling breath. He sagged in Yixing’s hold, and the advisor pulled away with a soft cry, scooting back as Crow’s head hung forward, body held up on his knees.

The air around them, that had been alive with a tangible energy, stilled.

Yixing stared at the man with wide eyes, chest heaving around breath after panicked breath, before he was scrambling to his feet and sprinting out of the room. He didn’t know if he were even going in the right direction, blindly searching for a stairwell that would lead him to the tower. That would lead him to Junmyeon.

He found a narrow set of stairs tucked away in the corner of the crumbling establishment, and without hesitation, pushed himself up the steps two at a time. The door at the top swung open easily, no locks or spells or obstacles to stand in Yixing’s way, and the advisor stumbled through the entrance.

The sight of Junmyeon was enough to have tears springing to his eyes, the man laid out on a bed against the far wall. He was completely unscathed, face peaceful and soft as Yixing stumbled forward, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He sank next to the bed with little finesse, reaching out with a bloodied hand to push the hair off Junmyeon’s forehead.

“Your Highness,” he called quietly, voice trembling as he cupped the side of the man’s face. “ _Junmyeon_ , wake up.”

The prince didn’t stir, breath even in his sleep.

Yixing’s hands shook as he took a hold of the other’s shoulders, shaking him roughly. “Junmyeon, _wake up_. _Please_.” When nothing changed, the prince remaining undisturbed by the urgency in Yixing’s voice and actions, a sob ripped from the advisor’s frame.

He hunched over the bed, burying his face into the crook of his arms as he screamed, a ragged, horrible sound. He clutched at Junmyeon’s hand, willing the man to wake, and sobbed harder when his fingers stayed limp in his.

Crow was right. Junmyeon would not wake.

-

When he had carried the man down the stairs, face streaked with tears as quiet tremors rolled through his body, he had found Chanyeol in the throne room. The captain must have finally found a way to get inside, and he was kneeling next to Zitao, the younger guard hissing as he touched the back of his head where he had hit the wall. Both guards looked up at the sound of Yixing’s footsteps, relieved smiles settling into their features at the sight of Junmyeon held in Yixing’s arms.

Until they noticed Yixing’s grief-stricken expression.

Yixing refused to let any of them touch Junmyeon, clutching the man to his chest when Chanyeol and Zitao neared. The captain went to remove Junmyeon from his arms, and Yixing became hysterical, pulling away sharply. They hadn’t tried to take him again.

The advisor hadn’t put Junmyeon down once on the journey back. They rested when they had to, stopped when there was need, but Yixing’s arms stayed around Junmyeon’s limp form, the weight of the prince against his chest being the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

They were met by Weishan’s army at the end of the second day. The man in question was the first to approach them, his face stern and a lecture on the tip of his tongue until Yixing had looked up at him.

The three of them had been ushered towards a group of horses, a few higher ranked soldiers sliding off the animals to make room for the exhausted trio. Zitao and Chanyeol shook their heads at the offering, but Yixing knew he wouldn’t last much longer without assistance. He settled Junmyeon first, before climbing up behind him, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and thigh. A medic went to approach them, and Chanyeol shooed him away. Weishan sent a few scouts ahead to alert the castle, but the rest remained back, providing an escort for protection. Yixing knew it didn’t matter. Crow was dead. But he let Weishan do that much, knowing the man was only trying to help.

The sight of the castle gates was not as welcome as it normally would have been. There had been a time when Yixing would have sighed in relief at the familiar structure, returning from whatever excursion Junmyeon had dragged him along for. But this time, coming home felt like returning for a funeral.

And if he took Crow’s words into consideration, that was exactly what he was doing.

The scouts must have done their job, for a number of people met them at the entrance. He could see a handful of servants peering curiously from the side, but his eyes were more focused on the main party. The king and queen, his own father, and then Yifan, Jongdae, and a very weak Minseok, having woken up while they were away. Yixing didn’t meet any of their eyes, Zitao and Chanyeol helping him from his horse as he pulled Junmyeon back into his arms.

Minki started towards them immediately, Junhye close by his side, unable to stay by the castle doors any longer.

“You have Junmyeon?” the king asked, and Yixing’s grip tightened as he nodded.

“I have him,” Yixing said softly, though the words held a gravity that he couldn’t shake, a graveness that left the sentence feeling like ash in his mouth. Something in the words must have also struck a chord in Minki, for he reached out to run a hand through his son’s hair slowly, as if the slightest touch would have the man fade away before their eyes. Junmyeon didn’t stir, didn’t respond.

“He sleeps?” Junhye asked, a note of hope within the words, but Yixing didn’t respond.

It was Yifan who spoke next as others gathered around, quickly moving forward. He shot his father a questioning look before stopping in front of Yixing, the advisor’s eyes fixed on the ground.

“Is he injured?” he asked softly, and Yixing bit his lip against the sob that threatened to burst from his chest. His fingers dug a little harder into Junmyeon’s form, and he looked up at Yifan with such a look of despair that the young lord paled.

“ _Dead?_ ” Yifan whispered, the word riddled with pain and leaving his voice to seem much smaller than it was, and Yixing shook his head sharply. No, _no,_ Junmyeon wasn’t dead. _He wasn’t_. Yixing refused to let that thought creep into his head.

But with the curse, he might as well be.

“I couldn’t break it,” he breathed, his bottom lip trembling. “The curse…”

He heard the queen gasp from where she stood close by, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone other than Yifan, whose eyes were clouded with tears as he looked down at Junmyeon. All of these people, they had trusted Yixing with the prince. Junmyeon had trusted him.

And he had failed them.

“We must get him inside,” Yifan murmured, but when he reached forward, Yixing pulled away, shaking his head furiously.

“No,” he refused weakly, his voice cracking from the emotions that had swelled up in his heart.

“Xing, please,” Yifan insisted softly. “We need to see what can be done.”

Yixing kept his hold on Junmyeon, his jaw clenched tightly. The tears returned then, falling from his eyes silently as he sucked in a shaky breath.

“Nothing can be done,” he said in a breathless whisper, shaking his head again. “I was too late.”

“We will fix this,” Yifan said firmly, his own voice quivering. “We _will._ But you need to let me see Jun. You need to let us help.”

When Yifan reached forward again, Yixing didn’t stop him. The young lord eased Junmyeon from his arms, and Yixing let him be taken from him with a broken whimper, shoulders shaking as he fought the urge to keep Junmyeon to himself. The minute Junmyeon’s weight was lifted from his chest, Yixing sunk to his knees, body no longer able to handle the strain.

Chanyeol and Zitao lunged forward, catching the advisor as he collapsed, and Jongdae rushed forward as Yifan gave a shout in surprise. The stable hand reached out, hand hovering over Yixing’s shoulder as he glanced up with wide eyes. Chanyeol cursed under his breath at the sight of the stab wound, having been unaware that Yixing was wounded, the advisor keeping his injuries hidden from the others as he clung to Junmyeon.

“He’s injured,” Jongdae said in a rush, glancing behind him to find Guozhi. “Doctor Zhang!”

Guozhi was by his son’s side in an instant, palm pressed to his cheek as he took a closer look at the wounds. “He is feverish,” he noted, before moving to push Yixing’s shirt off his shoulder, examining the gash in his skin with a cryptic eye.

“ _Guozhi_ ,” Yifan hissed in horror, holding Junmyeon closer to his chest as he looked down at his friend.

But the older man waved him off. “He will be alright. He is in shock, but it can be treated. Get the prince inside.”

When Yifan hesitated, Weishan stepped forward, taking a hold of Yifan’s shoulder. “Yifan, go,” he ordered gently, and the young lord turned, forcing himself to move briskly back towards the castle. The king and queen followed behind quickly, faces drawn. Junhye had taken a hold of Junmyeon’s hand, refusing to let go even as her tears slipped from her eyes.

Minseok stayed where he was, watching Yifan pass with Junmyeon, at a loss for what to do. What _could_ he do? His brother had taken his curse, and he could do nothing to take it back. Minseok was rendered powerless, guilt eating him up since he first saw his brother in Yixing’s arms, the usual life he held reduced to the slow draw of breath and a peaceful expression. Guilt that had never left since he had watched Junmyeon fall victim to the curse.

Yixing watched the others go through blurred vision, trembling as his father and Jongdae buzzed around him. He could hear them speaking, could feel Chanyeol and Zitao’s hands supporting him as he was lifted from the ground and carried inside, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t comprehend anything more than the lack of warmth and weight pressed to his chest, as it had been for the past three days.

He had been too late.

-

The year passed both agonizingly slow and incredibly fast, a paradox that Yixing would have found ironic, had it not brought Junmyeon’s demise closer by the day. This must have been the terror that Minseok felt, waiting for the day to come when everything would be taken away. Yixing thought he would have been driven mad if he had been in Minseok’s position. He was already half mad, as it was, with Junmyeon’s situation.

They searched every book in the library, every sheet of parchment they could get their hands on, to see if something could aid them in breaking the curse. When the royal library proved unhelpful, the search expanded to every library in the kingdom. And then every library in other kingdoms that offered their services. Servants, noblemen, and royal families alike searched and searched and _searched_. Yet when everything was looked through, twice in most cases, nothing had been found. Even after months of extensive research, there had been no answers to find.

Yixing had spent Junmyeon’s twenty-third birthday in Junmyeon’s chambers, singing softly to the sleeping prince in-between readings, making sure to listen for Junmyeon’s heartbeat, because he couldn’t shake off the fear that Crow had been lying, that Junmyeon would draw his last breath that day. It had been a milestone in itself, reminding everyone of the wasting time. Reminding them that time was slipping through their fingers.

It was a little into the eighth month that the searches stopped completely.

They had exhausted all of their resources, and exhausted their hope in finding a cure for the curse. What more could be done? What more could they possibly do, except make Junmyeon as comfortable as possible and hope for a miracle?

Minseok had made a complete recovery - though Jongdae had told Yixing the scars on his back would never fade, a constant reminder of Junmyeon’s sacrifice - and had, for the most part, started to rebuild his relationship with his parents. They had tried, at least, to treat him as more than a stranger in their household. Jongdae’s presence helped. The disappearance of the crow that had been in the back of all of his memories also put him more at ease. Or as much at ease as one could be when their brother was potentially on his deathbed.

Yixing had remained at Junmyeon side even after the searches were discontinued, refusing to believe there was nothing to be done. He would search the library a thousand times over, buy every foreign book Lu Han could get his hands on, and look through every single medical journal his father owned. And he would do it all without complaint if it meant Junmyeon would wake up.

He rarely left the other’s bedside, Junmyeon having been placed in his own bed chambers. He had nothing else to do, as Junmyeon’s advisor - though there was talk that he would soon be appointed as Minseok’s advisor - and so he would take his research materials with him and read in the chair next to the bed. He had taken to having his meals delivered to Junmyeon’s room, as well, though more often than not, the food went untouched. Other than visitors, ranging from friends to family members, no one entered the room, leaving Yixing alone with his thoughts.

The night before Junmyeon’s twenty-fourth birthday, Yifan found his way to Junmyeon’s room. He had knocked lightly, not waiting for a response as he pushed through the door, giving Yixing a small smile as he entered. Yixing had been halfway through a memoir from the Nightshade Rebellion, but set the book aside as the young lord crossed the floor. He had been used to interruptions today, the king and queen having just left minutes before.

“How is he?” Yifan asked as he sank down to sit on the mattress next to the prince, letting his hand rest atop Junmyeon’s.

Yixing merely shook his head. “He sleeps. There is not much else to be said.”

Yifan grimaced at the words, but did not readily respond. He sat a moment, simply taking in Junmyeon’s form, before he voiced another question, softer than the first.

“And how are you?”

“Fine,” Yixing answered before the words were even completely out of Yifan’s mouth, having guessed what he would say. He did this so frequently that Yixing hardly flinched. He had thought Yifan would grow tired of his clipped answers, but he asked every time.

“You look tired,” Yifan countered, lifting his gaze to meet Yixing’s.

“I am fine,” Yixing tried again, hoping the finality in his tone would be enough to dissuade his friend from this conversation. But this was Yifan, and the man was stubborn.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, ignoring Yixing’s glare. “Because you do not look fine, my friend.”

Yixing scrubbed a hand over his face, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Is there a purpose to this interrogation?”

“I am only looking out for your health,” Yifan insisted, and Yixing practically growled at him.

“ _I_ am not the one in an eternal sleep,” Yixing snapped, watching the shock flicker across Yifan’s expression. “ _I_ am not the one who has run out of time. Do not worry for me when it is Junmyeon who suffers the most.”

“Is that what you think?” Yifan asked, voice full of disbelief. “That you are not allowed to be upset?”

Yixing turned to look away from Yifan, and the young lord continued, his voice rising. “Do you think it is selfish of you to be worried for when Junmyeon is like this? As if you are the cause of all of this?”

“I could not fix it,” Yixing started, but Yifan cut him off.

“And what of Minseok? Is he selfish?”

Yixing looked up at him with a bewildered expression. “What? Why would he be selfish?”

“Jongdae still has to coax him out of his guilt from time to time,” Yifan went on, meeting Yixing’s gaze with a firm stare. “And it was his curse, after all. He is the reason Junmyeon fell to such a thing, being his brother.”

He was provoking Yixing. The advisor knew he was. And yet he could not help but rise to the bait.

“Minseok is not to blame.”

“Sure, he is,” Yifan countered, voice taking on a sarcastic tone as he continued to add fodder to the fire. “His curse, his fault. And he had the _audacity_ to complain about those burns on his back. _He_ is not the one lying in this bed, awaiting death.”

“That is not -” Yixing whispered, anger flushing his skin as shame settled over his shoulders. He had not tried to make Minseok sound selfish. This wasn’t about Minseok. This was about Junmyeon and Yixing’s inability to protect him.

But Yifan just kept right on, words sharp. “But that is what you said. No one has a right to be upset, right? No one is going through what Junmyeon is going through. Why should they receive any worry?”

He tilted his head in thought, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “The king and queen, too. So very selfish, to think others should pity their situation.”

“Stop this,” Yixing spat. “Stop twisting my words. That is not when I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Yifan questioned, and Yixing snarled, hands fisted in his lap.

“I meant that this is _not fair_ ,” Yixing roared, the ferocity in his words causing Yifan’s eyebrows to rise in surprise as Yixing stood from his seat. “It is not fair that Junmyeon is dying and I can do nothing to stop it. It is not fair that everyone else seems to have accepted it, when he is still here, still alive. Why should you care for me? _Why does nobody seem to care for him?_ ”

His chest burned with every breath, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He _wouldn’t_ let them fall. He couldn’t get upset. Not until he had tried everything he could to save Junmyeon. He didn’t have time to be emotional.

Yifan watched him silently for a moment, before reaching out to lightly take a hold of Yixing’s arm. The advisor flinched, but he didn’t pull away, trembling as he stood his ground, and Yifan pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle embrace.

“So many people care for Junmyeon,” Yifan whispered. “I care for him. And his parents. Minseok, Jongdae, Zitao, Chanyeol… The entire _kingdom_ cares for Junmyeon and his wellbeing.”

“Then why does no one fight for him?” Yixing bit out, shaking his head. He clenched his eyes shut at the tears. “Why can no one help me -”

He bit his tongue, silencing his words. _Why can no one help him fix this?_ How many times had he told Junmyeon not to apologize? Told him the best apology was to correct whatever it was that had been done? And here he was, unable to correct his own mistakes. He couldn’t find the cure. He couldn’t take back his coldness. He couldn’t prove himself worthy of Junmyeon’s trust.

He couldn’t tell him of his feelings.

Saying the words now would be useless, _pointless_ , for what good would they do? What would come of it? More heartache and no answers. He didn’t need to say them, though. Yifan knew already what he had wanted to voice.

“Sometimes,” Yifan started, “you cannot fix things, Yixing. This is not your fault. This is Crow’s fault, and even if you got rid of the problem, the solution is not always there.”

Yixing allowed Yifan to pull him back down, this time sitting next to him on the mattress. His weight had the bed dipping, but Junmyeon didn’t stir, and it _hurt_.

“I do not know what to do,” he whispered to his friend, searching Yifan’s expression for any inkling of direction. “What am I supposed to _do_?”

Yifan squeezed his hand gently, shaking his head as he met Yixing’s gaze. “I do not know. But I know you cannot let yourself waste away. You are far too needed to do so.”

“I am not,” Yixing began bitterly, but Yifan shook him gently, refusing to back down.

“ _Yes, you are. I_ need you. And so does Minseok, and Jongdae, and everyone else. Your _friends_ need you. Your _father_ needs you _._ We cannot bear to lose you, as well.”

The words stung, and even Yifan seemed to realize the heaviness of what he had said, for he let his eyes fall to the bed below. Yixing could feel his bottom lip quiver, and he bit it harshly to stop his emotions, forcing himself to clear his throat, to keep talking. Anything to keep from breaking.

“Junmyeon needs me,” he said in a voice so low he wasn’t even sure Yifan had caught it. But the young lord nodded, looking back up to show he had heard the advisor’s words.

“And you will be there for him,” Yifan assured. “He knows that.”

Yixing wasn’t so convinced he did, but he didn’t correct Yifan. It would hurt too much, and he didn’t trust himself to say that doubt aloud without being affected.

The young lord sat up straighter with a small sigh, sending Junmyeon another smile and giving Yixing’s arm a squeeze before letting go, pulling back.

“I have heard you have not sung to him in a while,” he commented, and Yixing gave a wordless nod. No, he had not been able to sing for months now. Yifan didn’t meet his eyes as he turned back towards the door, hands busy adjusting his tunic. “Perhaps the rose needs another song from the nightingale.”

Yixing looked up, mouth falling open to speak, but Yifan was gone before he could respond, door closing behind him softly. He was left alone with Junmyeon once more.

He thought to reach for the book he had been reading, but then let the idea pass. He was tired, and it was late, and he had read that last page nearly four times. He wasn’t going to get anything else out of it tonight.

So instead, he turned his attention back to Junmyeon. The prince had not changed since he had fallen under the curse’s hold, a nod to the magic that surrounded him, Yixing knew. For all intents and purposes, the man looked like he had simply fallen into a deep sleep, though Yixing knew better. Time had passed, even if it had not touched Junmyeon, and tomorrow would be his breaking point.

Yixing let a hand trail across Junmyeon’s brow, down one cheek, letting his thumb linger across a cheek bone. “Yifan is right,” he whispered into the silence around them, letting a small smile curl his lips. “I have not sung to you in a while, have I?”

His hand slid down to settle atop Junmyeon’s, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “Shall I sing your favorite?”

He let his gaze linger over Junmyeon’s face, but as he started the song, his mind began to wander, the words feeling heavier on his tongue than they had in a long time.

_“The rose, so pure, with petals white_   
_The whitest rose in lunar light_   
_And nightingale, whom shall appear_   
_To sing the rose to sleep at night_

_He sang of a love so sincere_   
_Devotion for the rose held near_   
_But lo, the thorns that rip and tear_   
_Did wound the nightingale severe_

_Blood spilt on petals, silent air_   
_No song at midnight, o so rare_   
_But reddest rose in lunar light_   
_Showed evidence of love’s affair.”_

With the last note still hanging in the air, Yixing sucked in a shuddered breath, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to keep his tears at bay. His chest burned with the effort to breathe, but he spoke again, voice cracking with emotion.

“You were wrong,” he murmured, forcing himself to look at Junmyeon once more, the man’s face blurred by his tears. “It was not the nightingale that was brave, but the rose.”

His hand tightened around Junmyeon’s once more, fingers shaking. “It is not you who is supposed to die. If I… If I could take your place…”

The first sob caught him off guard, bursting from his chest with a loud gasp. And then he could do nothing to stop them. His body curled in on itself, shoulders slumping forward as he allowed his head to hang down, tears streaming down his cheeks with no sign of slowing. Because no matter what, he couldn’t take Junmyeon’s place. Junmyeon had been the one to sacrifice himself, and Yixing could only watch as the man was taken away from him, one second at a time.

His arms no longer had the strength to hold his weight, and he fell across Junmyeon’s chest, arms cradling his head as he sobbed into the fabric of Junmyeon’s shirt.

“I am sorry,” he cried into his arms. “I have failed you. As your advisor, as your friend, as your nightingale.”

His fingers twisted into the shirt, knuckles white with the force. “I should not have pulled away. I should have fixed the damage I caused, should have _told_ you… I was so afraid of the thorns, of getting hurt, but if I had only told you how I feel.”

He knew he was being irrational. There was nothing he could have done to stop Junmyeon if the prince had made up his mind, and no amount of words could have changed the outcome. Not if Junmyeon were sure what he wanted to do was the right thing, would help others. It was just the type of person Junmyeon was, selfless and willing to sacrifice so much for those around him.

It was one of the many reasons Yixing loved him.

Yixing tried to slow his breathing, to calm his heart, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much to sit by and watch Junmyeon die, knowing the other man would never know just how much he truly meant to him.

The sound of bells, soft and distant, broke through his sobs, and Yixing’s head rose to face the window. The church bells, he realized. They always rang on the hour.

He counted, his breath frozen in his chest with every ring. Twelve. Twelve rings. Midnight.

It was Junmyeon’s birthday.

A choked cry forced its way out of Yixing’s chest as the church bells played a soft, familiar hymn greeting the new day, and he hid his face in his hands as he broke. He was out of time. _Junmyeon_ was out of time.

He reached out with his hand, brushing the hair from the man’s face in feather-light touches. He was shaking terribly, from all of the fear and misery and heartache that had built up over the past year that he had absolutely refused to let surface. But he couldn’t fight it now, when he realized that all of that pain was nothing compared to _this_ , to knowing the curse was going to take Junmyeon away once and for all.

And that he had failed Junmyeon, once again.

“Please,” he moaned, shaking his head. “Please, wake up.”

He could feel Junmyeon’s heart beating beneath him, could feel his breath hitting the skin of his hand, but the prince did not answer the plea.

The song in the distance struck its final note, and Yixing’s heart seized in his chest at the silence that fell over the room once more. Would it be now? Would he hear the heartbeat stop, or feel Junmyeon’s chest rise and then still forever? No, _no_ , he couldn’t be too late.

“Please, Junmyeon,” he whispered, “Do not do this. You must not die.”

He scooted closer, cupping the man’s cheek gently, as if even the smallest of touches would be what pushed the curse into effect and stole the man’s life away. Tearful eyes searched the peaceful expression, and Yixing shook his head slowly.

“I need you,” he whimpered. “I have always needed you. Please, Junmyeon, do not leave me.”

With slow, careful movements, Yixing leaned down, pressing a kiss to Junmyeon’s lips. Their first. He lingered there against his skin - he had envisioned this so many times, but never like this - another tremor running through him at the warmth of Junmyeon’s skin against his, before he pulled back with a strangled gasp. His forehead fell to the man’s neck, sobs shaking his frame.

“I love you,” he whispered in a breath, eyes squeezed shut as he cried. He said the words again, and again, and _again_ , the confession mixing in with his pleas as he gave into his emotions, ear pressed to Junmyeon’s collar to hear the steady rhythm of his heart, wondering when it would begin to fade.

The light touch of fingers against his neck pulled a surprised cry from his lips, and he pushed himself up, glancing back towards the door. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, and he hastily wiped away his tears, covering his mouth to hide his expression from the visitor. But there was no one there, the door still firmly shut.

“Yixing?”

The voice was soft, hoarse from a lack of use, and Yixing turned with wide eyes towards the sound, eyes falling to the prince. Junmyeon was still lying on the bed, still relatively unmoving, but his eyes had opened just a bit, face pulled into a dazed confusion.

Junmyeon was awake.

The realization had another sob falling from Yixing’s lips, and he threw himself into the other man’s chest, drawing him into his arms as he cried.

“ _Junmyeon_ ,” he spoke in an incredulous tone, tears falling faster as the prince reached up to lay a hand on the back of his head, returning the embrace with his own sluggish movements. He carefully slid his fingers underneath Yixing’s jaw, tilting his face up to look at him, and his eyebrows pulled closer together at the sight of Yixing’s tears.

“Xing, why are you crying?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep. And Yixing could not stop himself from laughing, the sound edged with hysterical. But he hardly cared, because _Junmyeon was awake_.

The advisor watched as realization dawned in Junmyeon’s eyes, the sleep being replaced by awareness with every passing second, and drew in a quiet gasp.

“The curse,” he started, glancing towards the door. “Minseok, he was cursed. And I -”

Yixing didn’t let him finish that thought, surging up to seal their mouths together once more. Junmyeon gasped at the action, but Yixing stayed firmly against the other’s lips, a hand moving to cradle the back of Junmyeon’s head, holding him in place.

When Yixing pulled back far enough to meet Junmyeon’s gaze, the prince blinked in bewilderment, clearly not having expected that reaction. He licked his lips, Yixing’s eyes tracking the movement, and spoke again in a breathless voice.

“I take it my idea worked, then?”

“So stupid,” Yixing groaned, kissing him again, this time with a nip to his bottom lip. “So completely _stupid_.”

But Yixing loved him, nonetheless.

* * *

**Nat’s Notes:** Fun fact: *Sobbing* We may have procrastinated quite a bit on this. But, really, this being… the last real chapter, excluded the epilogue. It’s been hard. And we won’t survive uploading the epilogue because it’ll make this fic’s completion _official._ It’ll hurt. And we’ll hurt. Sob. And speaking of the epilogue, we plan on uploading it sometime soon. In a few days? Eh, depends. But it won’t be long (Meg: at least by our standards *snort*)! But, alas, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It’s the longest chapter yet, I think, and quite a bit happens in it, along with the large time skip. So. BUT LOOK, HAPPY ENDING.

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed this, and will stick around for the end, aka the epilogue *cue ominous music in the background* The epilogue may bear news (Meg: *wink*), as well! But, yes, comments, subs and upvotes are deeply loved and very much appreciated <3

**Meg’s Notes:** (*miserable wails in the distance*) We have been dreading this, because uploading this, and then the epilogue (which is also done), means all of this has come to an end. So much happens in this chapter, too, which also made us take our time getting around to editing (Nat: Like… a lot of time. A long, long time). But it’s done, and we...well, we are feeling bittersweet about it. *clutches hand to her chest* Our baby has grown up! But as always, I hope you enjoyed this update, and the fact that OH, NO CLIFFHANGER. (Kind of...I mean...no, there’s not one. The epilogue picks up the slack, so). It’s happy, too, which is a lot to say, considering how dark we could have made it (seriously, we could have made it so much worse). Thank you for those who have stuck with this from the beginning, and thank you to all of the people who gave this a chance. It truly means so much, all the comments and subs and votes. <33

 

Lovely readers, we will see you for the Epilogue!


	12. Epilogue

After a year of waiting with bated breath, it was no wonder that the news of Prince Junmyeon’s reawakening was met with a loud cry of relief from the kingdom.

Yixing had refused to leave Junmyeon’s side after he woke up, afraid that he’d come back to find Junmyeon still asleep, or _dead_. Or he’d wake up from a dream, only to see the same thing he had lived for the last year. He wanted to make certain that this was real, that Junmyeon was really back, that Junmyeon wouldn’t leave him. Junmyeon had seemed amused by Yixing’s quiet possessiveness, but he had sobered quickly and let Yixing hold him for a long time.

Eventually, Junmyeon had been unable to stay still, and had asked about his brother. Yixing begrudgingly helped Junmyeon up from the bed to take him to Minseok’s chambers, mindless of the late hour. He knew Minseok wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. He had not been sleeping much, as of late, too aware of the date and what it meant. He had already said his goodbyes to Junmyeon earlier that day, while Yixing had stepped out, and the advisor knew the oldest prince would be awaiting someone to come and tell him of Junmyeon’s passing.

As he suspected, Minseok had been in his room, Jongdae curled up by his side. Yixing could see the tears forming in Minseok’s eyes as Yixing entered first, face crumbling as he pulled Jongdae closer, assuming the reason for Yixing’s visit and noting the tears that still clung to the advisor’s cheeks. But his attention snapped to the movement behind Yixing, and both Minseok and Jongdae gasped once they laid eyes on Junmyeon’s slight smile, the young prince shuffling into the room behind Yixing. Minseok had been up and in front of Junmyeon before anyone could blink, and as he hugged Junmyeon close, his wails bouncing off the walls with their intensity, Yixing had caught the words “ _You’re awake, you’re really awake_ ” and “ _Stupid_ ” and “ _Never do that again_ ” in-between sobs.

Jongdae had hugged Junmyeon the moment Minseok retreated, eyes red and still moist, but the older prince was wearing a wide smile that not even Jongdae had seen since before Junmyeon fell victim to the curse.

From there, it had taken less than half an hour for the whole castle to know of Junmyeon’s awakening, and by sunrise, the news had spread to the edges of the kingdom. There had not been a dry eye that night upon Junmyeon’s awakening. The queen had burst into tears at the sight of her youngest son, alive and well, and even the king’s eyes had looked suspiciously misty. Yifan’s emotions had also overwhelmed him when he saw his childhood friend, squeezing the breath out of the prince.

Guozhi had examined Junmyeon extensively once all of the emotional reunions had settled, pulling him into his room to check him over. Though he had expected the magic to essentially suspend Junmyeon’s life, it was still surreal to see all of Junmyeon’s body functions come back just as sharp as they had been before, the sleep not diminishing his motion or mind. Frankly, there had been a lot surrounding the curse that had stumped the medic, his mind baffled by how it had seemed Junmyeon had simply been frozen in such a state. But more than that, it was the curse’s break that left him confused the most. It had been with a lot of embarrassment that Yixing described the minutes before Junmyeon’s return to consciousness, Junmyeon’s own cheeks burning as he touched a hand to his lips at the memory.

When he had brought the circumstances up to Weishan later, the man had smiled a bit, before suggesting that perhaps the magic had reacted to the emotions Yixing had shared. After all, the curse was made due to Crow’s revenge, driven by heartache and anger. Yixing’s tearful confession and apology might have triggered something within the words, releasing Junmyeon with the similar emotions being displayed. But that was just a guess, and after a lot of questions and little answers, most accepted it as fate.

The aftermath had not been easy, however. While some things remained the same, others did not.

They had not expected Junmyeon to have nightmares. But the prince’s first nights of sleep were fitful, filled with visions of what could have happened, or what fear led him to believe had been a possibility. Dreams of Minseok dying from the curse in front of his eyes, seconds too late to save him. Or of him frozen in his own mind, conscious, but unable to open his eyes as others around his bed mourned him. But the worst by far had been a dream in which everyone, including Yixing, gave up completely, and he watched as an outsider as everyone turned away. The nightmares were horrible, irrational things, but things that he couldn’t seem to escape once he closed his eyes.

To counter them, and the lingering idea of falling back into that eternal sleep, Junmyeon was driven to try not to sleep at all. He’d pace the length of his room, pinch his arms until they were bruised, anything to keep the desire to sleep far away. But soon, he could feel exhaustion clawing up into the back of his mind, making his steps heavier, his actions sluggish. It was out of sheer desperation that he sought out Yixing, stumbling down the hall with fear welling up in his chest.

It surprised him to find Yixing having his own nightmares as well. The man had been writhing in his sheets, mouth open in a silent scream of terror, and Junmyeon had rushed forward. A firm hand on his shoulder had Yixing jerking awake, blinking in surprise at the sight of Junmyeon in his chambers, even as tears clung to his eyelashes. Junmyeon had taken one look at Yixing, chest heaving and fear in his features, before he had crawled beneath the covers and pressed himself against the advisor’s side, letting the weight of Yixing’s arm fall around his waist protectively.

It was only with Yixing that the anxiety of sleeping finally overwhelmed him, tears of fear and frustration falling from his eyes as he spoke of his nightmares. Yixing didn’t voice his own, though the way he tightened his grip was enough for Junmyeon to guess their content was similar in tone. Yixing was adamant that they must sleep, that it wasn’t good for them to stay awake, but Junmyeon stubbornly refused, even as his cries left him trembling.

Only when Yixing began to sing did he settle, tears silently continuing down his face as Yixing carded his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair, his voice quiet and soft and soothing in the dark room. He’d bury his face in Yixing’s chest and let the notes Yixing sang wash over his mind. He had woken up still gathered in Yixing’s arms, the advisor’s face peaceful in his own sleep and the lack of nightmares lingering in Junmyeon’s memory. They didn’t sleep apart again after that, seeking the presence of the other for comfort.

Minseok’s guilt did not leave, either. He still felt responsible for what had happened, still beat himself for it despite Junmyeon and Jongdae assuring him he was not at fault. The one who had done this was Crow, _not_ Minseok; the older prince _knew_ that, but he couldn’t shake it off, though it was a lighter burden now that Junmyeon wasn’t held captive by the curse. It got better every day, there in his heart but fading more and more as Junmyeon continued to thrive.

Not everything in the aftermath was negative, however. One of the more positive developments was the whole royal family finally being together.

Minki and Junhye had not been _bad_ parents, before. But now that Minseok had returned to the kingdom, they realized just how much time they had truly lost with him. The developing years, his entire childhood and adolescence, would forever be a mystery to them, for Minseok could only voice so much of his past, of his early childhood with Kou. Minseok was adamant to keep Kou’s memory and the man’s importance in his life alive in his heart, and he didn’t care to mention the years he spent alone. His parents didn’t push him, nor did they want to insult Kou’s guidance and care for Minseok, knowing he had been there for the prince when they had not. But they were here now, and they were making strides towards being the parents Minseok had deserved.

What had started out as awkward conversations with careful words and shaky glances had begun to feel more natural, easier. Warmth and familiarity began to replace the cold rigidity of their interactions, a relationship beginning to form. Minseok was no longer a stranger, but a prince, a _son._ Junmyeon’s friendship with his brother aided their parents’ attempts, and soon it was easy to feel like an actual family. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, and it may never be the comfort he had felt with Kou, but Minseok felt himself pushing closer, felt his heart expanding to include them among the ones he held close. They loved him, and he loved them. Jongdae, the optimist that he was, was certain it would never be as strained as it had been those first few months, and Minseok believed him.

But that didn’t mean he had to like _everything_ about being the crown prince.

For one, he was surprised by how much time he spent sitting through lessons. Kou had taught him the fundamentals of reading and writing, but nothing like this. History, literature, mathematics, philosophy… It was enough to make his head spin. And the tutors weren’t always as patient as Yixing, or as accommodating at Kyungsoo, despite Junmyeon and Yifan’s insistence that the man was actually terrifying. Some of them seemed to think he should be much more intelligent than he was, though Minseok would bet his right arm that they couldn’t hold a bow properly, or field dress a deer if the need arose. He’d like to see those books do the practical things that he had learned over the years.

He was also disgruntled at the etiquette he now had to uphold. Yixing, having served as an advisor for Junmyeon for years, now served as Minseok’s advisor instead, much to the delight of Junmyeon, who had known Yixing feared his relationship with Junmyeon would affect his advice. Yixing was a great friend, and a wonderful advisor, and he was there to make sure Minseok knew what to expect when he would take the throne. Which included how to act.

_That_ had been tough to get a handle on. So what if he ate his food quickly, and with his hands sometimes? So what if he walked loudly? He ate and walked with _purpose_. He had the majority of his life away from other people, so to suddenly be held to a standard in his mannerisms was a bit overwhelming. Everything he said and did and wore was now a representation of not only him, but his family, and the entire kingdom. Which led to a lot of details that Minseok would have happily overlooked before.

Like now, for instance, while he was wearing this ridiculous outfit that was, apparently, proper attire for a man who was heir to the throne. It wasn’t that he hadn’t worn anything like this before, in these past months; he just couldn’t get used to it. The texture was still so alien, the layers so restricting, so much unlike the loose clothes he had worn all his life. He missed being able to dress as he wished, but, with all that he had gained since coming to the castle, clothes hardly mattered.

“But it’s so soft,” Jongdae sighed wistfully, playing with one of Minseok’s silk sleeves. “If only I could wear this kind of clothes.”

“Believe me,” Minseok said dryly, “you would grow to hate it within a day, as well.”

The weather was pleasant, a mild summer day with a gentle breeze and clear sky. Jongdae had accompanied Minseok to the garden, and they had decided to take a short rest at the gazebo they had, since the Spring Festival last year, chosen as their usual rendezvous point. It was an escape, for a little while at least. Like now, when he was hiding from Yixing. The advisor was undoubtedly looking for him by now, especially since he missed his first lesson of the day. He understood why Junmyeon complained now.

Jongdae hummed, tilting his head as his gaze ran over Minseok’s form. A smirk played on his lips as he said, “Perhaps. But I like seeing you dressed like this. It looks really good.”

He leaned closer, hand coming up to play with Minseok’s collar, and added, nonchalantly, “Though I admit I _do_ enjoy taking them off you.”

That brought a snort from Minseok, and he leveled Jongdae with an unimpressed stare, even as Jongdae’s fingers slid under his collar to trace his skin. “I doubt Baekhyun shares that sentiment. He’d strangle us both if he saw what we’ve done to the last outfit he made for me.”

The stable hand shrugged carelessly. “What? For all that I know, you merely got stuck in the briars.”

“Briars. Of course.”

Jongdae sent him a cheeky smile. “What Baekhyun doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Or scar him for life.”

Minseok let out a sigh, though he did little to hide the curl of his lips. Out of all the things he could complain about, Jongdae’s preferences for clothes on the floor was not one of them. He reached up to grasp Jongdae’s hand, lacing their fingers together as the younger’s head dropped to his shoulder, a content sound leaving him.

Looking down, Minseok studied Jongdae’s face in silence for a moment, and then he carefully slid his fingers under the younger’s chin, tilting his head back. Jongdae blinked, just in time to see Minseok lean down to press his lips against his in a gentle kiss. The initial surprise lasted no longer than a breath, and then Jongdae’s eyes slipped closed again and he pushed closer.

The next thing Minseok knew was icy water running down his spine, and he sprang up with a shrill cry. Jongdae was soaked, as well, and Minseok heard laughter from behind them as Jongdae let out a harsh gasp.

“What the -” Jongdae started, around the same time as Minseok growled.

“ _Junmyeon._ ”

He turned around to glare at his brother, the younger man returning it with a wink and more laughter, bucket abandoned in the bushes. Before Minseok could move, the other prince had turned and sprinted off.

Honestly, Junmyeon had been slacking on his pranks as of late. He had a lot of catching up to do, missing an entire year. And who was he to miss an opportunity when Minseok and Jongdae presented one?

He had been prepared, had sneaked up on them as they talked, and had then waited for the perfect moment to attack. He had not seen the kiss coming, but when it did, he hadn’t let it gone to waste. And before the two had woken up from the stupor, Junmyeon had dashed off to get a head start in case they decided to chase him down to get revenge.

He purposefully chose the most narrow paths in the garden, down rows of bushes and hedges, through flower beds and ducking between the trees of the small orchard on this end. If they had pursued him, this would hopefully shake them off, or at least delay them long enough for him to hide somewhere until they gave up.

When Yixing strolled out of one path, eyes lifting to Junmyeon with a look of surprise, Junmyeon wasted no time in grabbing his wrist and pulling him along. The advisor let out a small cry as he fell into step.

“Who are we running from?” he asked with the voice of a tired parent, and Junmyeon couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest.

“My brother and Jongdae,” he answered quickly, weaving in and out of different paths.

“That is exactly who I was looking for in the first place,” Yixing started, and Junmyeon grinned.

“I would advise against finding him right now,” Junmyeon mused. “They are not in the best of spirits.”

Yixing was quiet for a moment, before speaking up again. “What am I pretending to know nothing about?”

Junmyeon shot him a wicked smile over his shoulder. “I found a bucket of cold water in the kitchen. Minseok and Jongdae looked thirsty. Especially after all of that kissing. And it does not matter if you know or not. They saw me.”

Yixing snorted at the words, shaking his head as he continued to run. “Well, at least that saves me time from trying to defend you. I can jump straight into the list of reasons he is not allowed to kill you, even if you may deserve it.”

“You wound me,” Junmyeon said with a chuckle. They were nearly at the outskirts of the garden now, the paths growing increasingly more narrow. That was fine by Junmyeon. They were smaller, but the bushes here also grew taller, concealing them from sight. He had used these paths multiple times in his escape from angry staff members and family.

The thing about these paths, however, was that he and Yixing weren’t the only ones who could hide within them. And Junmyeon remembered that just as he rounded a corner and nearly tripped over an unsuspecting obstacle.

Namely, Kyungsoo settled in Jongin’s lap, connected from hip to mouth.

Junmyeon yelped at he came to a skidding stop, heels digging into the soil below to keep him from trampling the two men. Yixing immediately reached out, grabbing a hold of his waist and pulling him back against his chest to keep him upright. But even if they stopped just short of touching Kyungsoo and Jongin, the others jumped apart as if Junmyeon had physically reached down and yanked them in separate directions.

Kyungsoo gasped, face flushed and eyes wide as he looked between Jongin and the prince. “This… This is not what it looks like.”

“So you were not kissing Jongin?” Junmyeon said with a laugh, part amusement and part terror, because _when did Kyungsoo ever get shy about things?_ Then again, Junmyeon had rarely seen him behaving as anything other than the strict tutor he knew him as. Making out with the gardner typically didn’t fall under that position’s qualifications. Yixing gestured a hand towards Kyungsoo’s chest and the way it heaved with every breath.

“It looks like you were enjoying it, at the very least,” the advisor said with a smile that was just shy of being a smirk. Kyungsoo squawked at the words, burying his face in his hands with a groan.

Jongin gave a nervous laugh, letting his head drop back to look up at the sky as his own blush burned down his neck. “Soo, let it go. It’s not like we haven’t caught them in the same manner.”

Now Junmyeon was blushing, because alright, perhaps it had not been the smartest of ideas to kiss Yixing in the library, but in his defense, Kyungsoo was supposed to have been giving his extra lessons to Minseok around that time. It wasn’t like he had been planning to get caught half-dressed and flushed. Yixing could hardly look at Kyungsoo for a few days after that.

Now, at least, they were even.

Before he could say more, however, he heard his brother’s voice close by, and he was running again, pulling Yixing behind him as he pushed past the couple and towards the castle. It was truly his only chance of not being found. He had been roaming the castle halls long before Minseok had come to know them, and he still hadn’t told the older man all of his hiding places.

The gate they came to led out of the garden but then directly next to the training grounds, and Junmyeon let go of Yixing’s hand in the wider space. They took off across the grounds, sparing a glance at Chanyeol and Zitao as they passed, a very smug Yifan standing nearby. Junmyeon caught his eye and called out as he ran.

“Have you won today, friend?”

“Nearly,” Yifan replied with a happy laugh, Zitao rolling his eyes off to the side.

“Luck, Your Highness. He is winning purely by _luck_.”

Junmyeon thought he heard Chanyeol’s voice rumble out something about Zitao being distracted by Yifan - the man had foregone his shirt, and even Yixing would begrudgingly admit the extra sparring had done wonders for the young lord’s physique - but he turned his attention back to the castle gates when he heard Jongdae’s voice ringing out.

“There!”

The exclamation had Junmyeon running harder, reaching the castle doors and pulling Yixing inside before taking off down the hall, his feet pounding against the floor. He was nearly out of speed, and his side ached terribly, but they had to get just a little further before they hid. But where…

Ducking around the corner, Junmyeon tugged Yixing into the nearest spare room, closing the door just as the sound of the outer doors opening echoed through the halls. He pressed Yixing’s back to the wall, the advisor reaching out to grab Junmyeon’s arms as the prince moved to stand in front of him. Junmyeon held his breath as he listened to Minseok and Jongdae’s footfalls grow closer, the sound of their feet squeaking on the floor from the water their clothes held. Yixing’s chest was pushing against his with every breath, head tilted back against the wall as he focused on being quiet, and they waited.

The footsteps neared, and then passed, disappearing down the hall and away from their hiding spot. Junmyeon let out his breath with a silent laugh, pushing his face into Yixing’s neck to keep quiet, and Yixing wrapped an arm around him tighter, lightly hitting him in the shoulder.

“Should I have let them catch you?” Yixing teased in a hushed tone, hand pushing through the strands of hair at the nape of Junmyeon’s neck. “Saved myself from whatever revenge plot they think of to pay you back?”

“That would imply that I would let you get away,” Junmyeon whispered, still afraid the others would come back down the hall and hear them.

“I could, you know,” Yixing countered, nuzzling against Junmyeon’s hair with a sigh. “As your former advisor, and as Minseok’s current advisor, I really must insist you apologize to your brother and our friend.”

“And as my nightingale?” Junmyeon challenged, looking up at Yixing with a playful smile. “Would you allow your rose to be destroyed?”

“Come now, Junmyeon,” Yixing started, and Junmyeon’s smile grew wider at the sound of his name. He would never get used to the swell of his heart when Yixing dropped his title, even if it were mainly in private. “Even roses need to be pruned from time to time. Perhaps Minseok will go easy on you if you give yourself up?”

“You would not let me suffer at their hands,” Junmyeon said, giving Yixing a soft smile. “I know you better than to believe a word of that threat.”

“Ah, you test me,” Yixing said with a chuckle. “Shall we see if they are close enough to hear the nightingale’s song?”

He took a deep breath, opening his mouth as if to shout, but Junmyeon didn’t let it get that far, leaning up to cover the advisor’s mouth with his own. Yixing squeaked at the sudden press of Junmyeon’s lips, before reaching forward to pull Junmyeon closer by the waist. Junmyeon shivered when Yixing tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a flick of his tongue against Junmyeon’s bottom lip, which the prince readily welcomed.

“You do not play fair, Rose,” Yixing murmured into Junmyeon’s mouth, and the prince smiled into the kiss.

“And yet you still love me,” he quipped, nipping at the advisor’s upper lip and earning a soft groan from the other.

“Yes,” Yixing admitted, hands tightening their grip on Junmyeon’s lower back. “Always.”

Junmyeon didn’t respond to that with words, only kissing Yixing harder, more urgently. They should probably move from their hiding spot, lest Minseok and Jongdae come back through here and start checking rooms to see if they are there. But the feeling of Yixing’s lips against his and the emotions that swelled up in his own chest at Yixing’s gentle touch and gentler words left him forgetting the situation at hand, forgetting everything else other than his love for this man.

He was sure as far as nightingales go, Yixing was easily the best one. But more than that, he was _his_.

The rose wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

 

**Meg’s Notes:** *ugly, miserable, exhausting sobbing* It is done. And we are not okay. Fuck. Sigh. But it has been a long journey for these two, and it was about time we pulled ourselves together and finished this epilogue (shorted part of the entire story, and it took us forever to write, because we dreaded the end. Blah). And it’s fluff! GUYS, LOOK. IT’S FUNNY AGAIN. *cough* Anyway.

Though we don’t have anything concrete for this, I doubt Nat and I will be able to stay away from this AU. In the future, we hope to do side shots, or possibly even another story for a different pairing in this, but it will be a while, as we have many other ideas and commitments and schedule issues. But for all of you who have read this story and commented and upvoted and loved these characters with us, please know we are so so so grateful. This story means so much to us, and to see others get invested in it really means the world to us. So thank you <3 And to all of you silent readers, thank you as well, and please don’t be afraid to talk to us! We really love discussing things with everyone. *Sigh* I’m running out of words to say, and honestly, I don’t think I can put into words all of the thoughts I have with finishing this story. But once again, dear readers and friends, thank you for taking on the journey with us! Until we meet again <3

**Nat’s Notes:** *Distant wails and sobs* Right. So. Here we are. After… almost a year of plotting and writing (ten months, I believe), we are _done_. And the result? 236 pages on Word, and ~114.170 words. When we first started discussing this, throwing out ideas… Damn, who’d have thought what it would turn out to become, with chapters that got increasingly longer, and connections, and… Sigh. This is tough. Our baby is all grown up, now, and is leaving, and _it hurts._ But, alas, that is what must happen. Sigh.

We really did procrastinate quite a bit on this… Heh. Oops. But finishing the epilogue meant finishing this _fic_ , obviously, and eh. In the end, we had to finish, so. And to all of you who have stayed with us throughout this journey, silent or not, _thank you from the bottom of my ice cold heart._ Really! It means so fucking much to know what you think of this fic, that you like it, that there are people who _read it_. And whether you followed us from the very beginning, or just read this in one go (or over a few days, courtesy of the word count), and whether you commented or read in silence, it really means the world to us. _Thank you_ , again! If you feel generous, do leave us a comment, because we, as Meg said, love discussing, and with the epilogue, we’d _really_ love to know your thoughts! Kudos are welcomed with kisses and hugs, as well, and likewise with subs.

_Thank you!_

 

But wait, we aren’t done yet. With the end of this comes the very beginning of a new tale!

 

The _Lan Hua_ just docked, so if ye fancy yerself some pirates and sirens, board the ship, and in due time, it will set sail and take ye through a new adventure! Namely, our new collaboration, [_Sing to Me a Song of Waves_](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1005154/sing-to-me-a-song-of-waves-angst-romance-exo-pirates-krisho)(Link to AFF, where the Forewords are up. The fic will be uploaded here, too, the moment we have the first chapter!). Prepare for (reluctant) pirate Yifan, who catches the attention of Junmyeon the siren, whilst he learns to trust in Captain Zhang Yixing and the crew of _Lan Hua._ But be warned, sirens are not the only monsters at sea.


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